


The Sorrowful Sequel

by Iwillsingyoulullabys



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004), A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004) RPF, A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 63,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillsingyoulullabys/pseuds/Iwillsingyoulullabys
Summary: "You'll never touch our fortune." Klaus snapped. The grin slipped from Olaf's face as a terrible expression crossed it. Still staring at Klaus with those wild angry eyes, he slowly snaked his arm around Violet's shoulders. She flinched. "Oh, Klaus." He said softly. "I think you'll find I can touch anything I like."The Marvellous Marriage has succeeded.  Klaus Baudelaire observes the change in his sister now that she is married to a terrible villain.  Lemony Snicket continues to feel compelled to narrate.





	1. I told her not to step on the cracks

Beatrice, may I watch over them as I failed to watch over you.

Reader, if you enjoy stories of sunshine and rainbows then I fear you have come to the wrong place. This story can only be one of woe and despair. If you prefer stories of the former, I implore you to go and read the story of the Happy Little Elf. The protagonist is an adorable Happy Little Elf who goes on all sorts of twee adventures full of sugary cuteness and always gets his own way. It remains the only book Klaus has failed to complete.  
His little sister Sunny nestled in the crook of his arm. Still a baby her eyelids drooped to a close before wildly fluttering back open in a panic to stay awake. Just a few months ago he found that stubbornness amusingly adorable. Now he knew it was her own way of fighting for survival. Having only just been released from capture, Klaus knew that his baby sister wanted to be ready to defend herself with her exceptionally sharp teeth should anything happen again. He wondered if she appreciated the fact that, as an infant, her chances were pretty slim.  
To his right was his older sister, Violet, who sat staring out the window with a surprisingly vacant expression, seemingly unmoved by the terrible driving and the even worse situation they now found themselves in. Her dark hair was starting to tumble down from its ornate style, tendrils of hair framing her expressionless face. Klaus remembered them playing weddings as children. Often Violet would play the photographer, but one of the last times she played it she dressed herself in the scrap of white lace they pretended was a veil and beamed with pride. He couldn’t have been any older than eight but he thought to himself then how proud he would be to see her in a real wedding dress.  
Now here she was dressed all in white on her wedding day. He’d heard people tell her how beautiful she looked. There was only one problem.  
She was fourteen years old.  
Her groom was at the wheel of the car cackling like a madman and swigging wine as he celebrated his good fortune. In this instance, good fortune is a figure of speech, but soon enough a real monetary fortune would be following soon; all for being mad enough to go along with a plan that no adult had been able to stop.  
When Klaus was ten he’d gone camping for a week with his school. Before he went away his mother and father sat him down to explain some things.  
“While you are away your teachers are in charge.” They'd said. “They become your guardians and as your guardians you must show them the same respect you do us. A guardian only wants what is best for you just as we do, so you must obey them and understand that any decisions they make are ones to keep you safe.”  
Count Olaf was their guardian now. And Count Olaf was not the sort of guardian his parents had described. The decisions he made were to suit his own gains. He didn’t want what was best for them, quite the opposite and put them in danger just by existing. Klaus wondered if his parents would want him to respect and obey Count Olaf. He also wondered why on earth their will had left the children in this terrible man’s care.  
“The entire Baudelaire fortune!” Olaf was crowing as if he himself could scarcely believe it, his eyes bright with jubilation. “Mine! Finally mine! After years of waiting I finally have my hands on it.”  
“What will you buy first, boss?” The hook handed man asked. He was squeezed in the back with the Baudelaire children but so far had paid no attention to them.  
From the rear view mirror, Klaus saw Olaf’s eyes gleam.  
“Wine first!” He announced. “We’ll drink ourselves stupid. From then on who knows? I have so many ideas.”  
Klaus’ hands balled up into fists. This was not Olaf’s money. This was his parent’s money. Money they had worked hard for. Money they had saved for their children’s futures. It felt hopelessly unfair.  
He felt a hand take his. Without moving her face away from the window, Violet had taken his hand in hers. He felt a little better.  
Beside him Sunny had finally fallen asleep.  
“What are you going to do about the brats?” The hook handed man asked in a stage whisper.  
Whispering is incredibly useful. You can whisper birthday present ideas while the person with the upcoming birthday is only in the next room none the wiser. You can whisper your devotion to your true love while their spouse is inches away. You can whisper a secret code to another volunteer and prevent a fire.  
Stage whispering is only an illusion to whispering. The other actors on stage pretend not to hear it while it is loud enough for the audience to hear and contribute to their enjoyment of the show. It is not a good idea to ask someone something, with the people you are talking about nearby, in a stage whisper.  
Klaus saw Olaf roll his eyes at his associate’s stupidity. Then then their eyes met in the mirror. Klaus tried to stare him out, but Olaf had the look in his eye of a delighted lion who had finally stumbled across a gazelle. “Oh I can think of some uses.” He said softly. “They’ve already proved themselves as mediocre slaves.”  
The bald man with the long nose was in the passenger seat. Klaus had already noted that he was the only one of Olaf’s associates to enjoy that luxury. He also seemed to be allowed a certain amount of freedom compared to the others, not close enough to be partners, but he was higher up the scale than the others. He was the one Violet feared most.  
“I hope you won’t see too much of a change in them.” He said smoothly. “If I were you I’d lock them up. Stop any silly ideas of running away from getting into their heads.”  
“Oh that won’t happen.” Olaf said confidently. “I have plans to prevent any little jaunts away from home. By the time I’m done, they’ll never disobey my orders again.”  
But this wasn’t their home. Their home had been beautiful, passed down through the generations. The library had been his favourite. Thousands of books collected through the years, some in languages he had not yet learned, others in codes he longed to understand. With a pang he remembered his father had promised to teach him some day.  
Olaf’s house was probably grand some years ago. Perhaps before the Count had moved in it had been someone’s pride and joy. Now it was dirty and disheveled as its owners soul.  
The car screeched up onto the drive and Klaus felt another stab in the gut at their impending doom. Olaf clearly felt quite the opposite as he sounded quite jovial. “Here we are orphan’s! Home already for the wedding party!”  
As the adults bundled out of the car Violet turned to Klaus, her face finally betraying some kind of expression.  
It wasn’t good.  
“I’m scared, Klaus.” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get out of this one.”  
“We’ll think of something.” He gabbled, not even believing it himself. “We’ll get away. We can make a plan.”  
The car door swung open and Olaf had his arm around Violet’s waist, pulling her out of the car as if she were a rag doll. “Welcome home, bride!” He laughed as Violet squirmed away from him. “I must carry you onto the threshold!”  
Klaus felt a tug on his collar as the hook handed man hauled him out the other side. The associate of indeterminable gender held Sunny who was biting them frantically, but they didn’t seem to notice.  
“Let go of my sisters!” Klaus had meant to sound powerful and threatening, but his voice cracked and wobbled. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment as he was reminded once again of how unlike his father he was, how he could never be strong like him. Tears stung in his eyes as they laughed at him. He forced himself to continue. “Let us all go.”  
Olaf smirked. "Go? Go where? I can't let you go anywhere until I've put my hands on your fortune."  
"You'll never touch our fortune." Klaus snapped.  
The grin slipped from Olaf's face as a terrible expression crossed it. Still staring at Klaus with those wild angry eyes, he slowly snaked his arm around Violet's shoulders. She flinched. "Oh, Klaus." He said softly. "I think you'll find I can touch anything I like."  
The associates around them sniggered. Klaus felt the heat rise in his cheeks.  
"Anyway, why would I want to do let you go?" Olaf's yellowing teeth spread into a sickly grin. "My beautiful bride and children belong here with me. I couldn’t bear for us to be apart."  
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he summoned up his bravery as he gritted his teeth. “We know that’s not the truth, Olaf.” He said steadily. “You’re not a good enough actor to pull off that lie.”  
If anyone had been carrying a pin and at that precise moment decided to drop it, you would have been able to hear it.  
Olaf’s amber eyes grew shinier as the smirk slipped off his face as if he’d been slapped.  
Klaus suddenly stopped feeling very brave and started to feel very stupid.  
Thrusting Violet at the bald man with the long nose, Olaf slowly made his way towards him. The creeping was deliberate, designed to evoke terror in the boy and it was working. Even though Olaf moved at a snail’s pace, Klaus felt rooted to the spot. Sunny had stopped biting the associate of indeterminable gender. Violet was no longer struggling against the bald man with the long nose. Both of his sisters were as frozen in fear as he was.  
When Olaf finally towered over him, Klaus felt his knees buckle. The angry glint in his guardians eye forced his own gaze to the ground and he tensed as he saw Olaf raise his fist.  
“Stop!” Violet cried out.  
To Klaus’ surprise, Olaf turned back to look at her. Clearly it took Violet by surprise too because nothing more came out of her mouth.  
“Speak wife.” Olaf snarled. “You better have a good reason why I shouldn’t beat your bratty brother senseless.”  
Violet flinched as her mouth gaped open helplessly. “I only mean that…I only mean…If you were to beat Klaus he wouldn’t be fit for chores in the morning.” With reasoning her voice grew more confident. “He’s just a weak little boy. Even one punch would do too much damage. Give him more chores to do tomorrow. I’m sure he’s already very sorry.”  
Klaus couldn’t see Olaf’s expression. He could only hear his voice.  
“One punch, you say?”  
Then everything went black.

When Klaus came to his senses felt under attack. Music blasted out of the speakers until his surroundings shook, the rest of the noise came from cackles and drunken singing. The stench in the air was liquor and it was enough to make him sick. The room was still spinning but he was able to work out it was Olaf’s living room. Looking down at him from the ceiling were hundreds of painted eyes. Each pair different from the next. It felt like the gods were watching them. Waiting. As he stirred some more he felt Violet’s hand press down on his arm to prevent him from sitting up. His head was in her lap while, on her other side, a wary Sunny nestled in the crook of her arm.  
The associates were dancing wildly, not even bothering to keep in time to the music; they danced to their own beat. Each of them held a dozen bottles while even more littered the floor. The associate of indeterminable gender had passed out and was snoring softly in the corner of the room. The white faced women were shrieking with laughter as the hook handed man attempted to waltz with them both.  
The wart faced man and the bald man with the long nose were playing some sort of drinking game. Klaus couldn’t work out if it was the loser or the winner who took a drink. Perhaps it was both.  
Only Olaf seemed separate from the group. Watching the scene with some curiousity, like a child on their first day of school. He always seemed to be watching. As Klaus looked at the tattoo of the eye on his ankle it stared back.  
“Klaus!” Olaf spun around suddenly. “What a nasty little fall you had.”  
He could feel Violet’s gaze burning into him. Don’t answer back. He sat up and rubbed his head.  
“You must have tripped.” Olaf was beaming. When Klaus didn’t answer he leaned in so close Klaus gagged from the decaying smell of his breath. “You must have tripped.”  
A pinch from Violet brought him back down from any brave idea he’d have liked to try. “I must have tripped.” He muttered.  
Olaf’s face cracked into an even bigger smile. “Good boy.” He straightened up, looming over the Baudelaire children. “Welcome to the wedding party. I was going to send you all straight to bed, but being the kind guardian I am, I thought you could stay for a little while. Maybe even have a horse dwarf or two.”  
The children exchanged a glance.  
“A what?” Violet asked.  
Olaf rolled his eyes irritably. “A horse dwarf. Did your beloved parents never take you to parties?”  
“Gonvos” Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of, not to these sort of parties you odious man.  
Olaf ignored her and gestured to a tray on the coffee table that held a dozen tiny canapés. Sloppily done and with ingredients going out of date, Klaus suspected Olaf hadn’t hired a caterer.  
“Those are horse dwarves.” Olaf said slowly as if talking to a particularly deaf elderly tourist. “Horse dwarves. You eat them.”  
Klaus suppressed a laugh which turned into a snort. “Do you mean Hors d'oeuvres?”  
He could see Violet bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from giggling. That was until Olaf grabbed Klaus by the scruff of the neck.  
“Get out of my sight.” 

Back in the relative safety of their room, the Baudelaire children breathed a sigh of relief and crumpled to the floor.  
“I was sure he was going to separate us.” Violet said as she clung to her younger siblings. “Klaus, I was so afraid. Sunny, I thought he would put you back in that cage.”  
“Quentic.” Sunny said, which meant something along the lines of, “if anyone tries that again I’ll see they don’t have much of a face left.”  
“How could they allow this to happen?” The question that had been burning up inside him suddenly burst out.  
“Justice Strauss didn’t know.” Violet put a hand on his shoulder as she attempted to soothe him. “And the plan was so far-fetched; it is understandable Mr Poe would never believe us.”  
“Not them.” Klaus felt the angry hot tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. He balled his hands into fists again. “Mother and Father. How could they let this happen? Why did we end up with Count Olaf?”  
Violet gently cupped his face in her hands, carefully avoiding the bruise that was blossoming by his eye.  
“We mustn’t blame them.” She said softly. “They couldn’t have known this would happen. No one could.”  
Reluctantly Klaus nodded. His father had once told him that the dead were the easiest to blame but not always the right ones. He suddenly felt ashamed.  
Violet sighed again as she straightened up and lifted Sunny. “We should all get to bed. We’ve had a difficult day. In the morning I’ll sort something out. Anything I can. It can’t be a lawful marriage if I was coerced. We know Mr Poe is useless, but Justice Strauss will help us. Just you wait and see, the marriage will be annulled and I’ll insist we be cared for by a more suitable guardian.” She gave the pair a reassuring smile. “We can be thankful tonight that we are all together. That’s what’s important, that we stay together.”  
“Favo” said Sunny, which meant something like quite right!  
When Klaus nodded again, Violet looked relieved as if she'd expected him to argue. “Sunny should get to stretch out on the bed tonight. I can’t imagine that cage was very comfortable.”  
And so the Baudelaire children settled down for the night, each taking turns to comfort one another. They could not know what the morning would bring, so for now they would give thanks that they were still together.


	2. I told her not to fuss and relax

Beatrice, yours was the sweetest kiss and the only one I'll ever miss.

Klaus woke with a start as the door was flung open spilling light into their peaceful slumber.  
He'd scarcely had any time to adjust when a looming shadow came into view filling the room with darkness once more. It was the shadow of Count Olaf.  
Before Klaus could ask what was going on or what time it was, Olaf had strode across the room and was pulling Violet to her feet.  
For all the alcohol Klaus had seen him drink, he seemed remarkably sober.  
“With me.” He said to her shortly. It was as if the two younger children were not in the room. When Violet hesitated he held her wrist back until she cried out in pain.  
“Leave her alone!” Still drowsy from sleep, Klaus struggled up. “Whatever you want can wait.”  
There was a gleam in Olaf’s eye that made him feel uneasy. “Oh no it can’t.” He turned to Violet, suddenly the picture of a charming man. “Dear Violet, will you join me? The wedding festivities have not yet finished and we all miss your company. It's not right that the bride should miss her own reception” The faux smoothness of his voice made Klaus feel sick.  
Violet looked over at her younger siblings, then back at the much older man towering over her. Her cheeks reddened. “Might I stay here?” She asked politely, far meeker than Klaus had ever heard his sister speak. “With my siblings. It has been such a long day and we are very tired.”  
“Are you turning down my hospitality?”  
Violet paled. “N-no. I just meant that we’d like to be asleep now. In the morning we can…” she tailed off hopelessly.  
Olaf let go of her wrists and for a moment Klaus was sure the man was going to leave their sorry state of a bedroom.  
But this is a story that only continues to get worse, and get worse it did.  
With one hand Olaf lifted Sunny into the air and held her high above his head. She immediately began to wail and though the eldest Baudelaire's lunged forwards to help, they were held back with the sharp point of Olaf's dagger.  
“Come with me now,” Olaf said calmly. “Or I’ll run her through.”  
At this moment you could say that the Baudelaire’s found themselves at a fork in the road. The origins of the expression are fairly simple. One day a man was driving along when a fork punctured his tyre. He decided, rather sensibly, to get it mended; but seeing the fork in the tyre reminded him that he was hungry and so maybe he could get something to eat first. Or maybe he should run the rest of the way to meet his elderly mother who he had been on his way to see. So a fork in the road represents a moment in your life where you are faced with making a difficult decision from a variety of different options.  
For Sunny, the best option was to cry and wail until the neighbours intervened.  
For Klaus, the best option was to fight Count Olaf.  
For Violet, the best option was to reason with Count Olaf. She had learnt from experience that the neighbours would never intervene. She also knew that for all of Klaus’ bravery and determination, he would never be able to take on a grown man twice the size of him.  
“Please, Olaf.” Violet stepped in between the man and boy. “You wouldn’t really hurt a baby. You have everything you need now, you don’t need anything else. You don’t need to hurt Sunny. You wouldn’t.”  
Without saying a word, Olaf traced his dagger across Sunny’s cheek, leaving behind a small trickle of blood. In shock, Sunny stopped wailing and looked down in horror.  
Olaf leaned in towards Violet. “Would you like to test me?” He whispered.  
“Don’t go with him!” Klaus blurted out. The tightening in his chest was back. “Please, Violet. I don’t like this. Don’t go with him.”  
“I wouldn't listen to four eyes.” Count Olaf spoke over him, not once breaking eye contact with Violet. “If he keeps shooting his mouth off he is going to have a very serious accident. They say that accidentally biting your tongue off is very common at that age. Especially if you have a disobedient older sister.”  
“Please don’t hurt them.”  
“That’s up to you.”  
“Violet, don’t go with him!”  
“You promise you won’t hurt them?”  
“If you come with me right now.”  
“No! Don’t go with him!”  
"This your last chance."  
"Violet"  
As Olaf raised his knife to Sunny once more Violet cried out. "I'll go with you! Of course I'll go with you. Please, put her down."  
Olaf paused, his knife tickling against Sunny's chest. She'd stopped crying by this point and had her face scrunched up as if she were trying to block out this terrible scene. Klaus sagged with relief when he gently put her down on the bed and tucked his knife away in his belt pocket.  
Belt pocket. Klaus stored that information away for later.  
In the meantime Violet had gone paler still, watching Olaf warily. Yet when Klaus reached out for her she moved away.  
“Klaus, I’ll be fine.” It was as if Violet was struggling to look at him, she never quite met his eyes. “Please don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. The reception can't go on too much longer.”  
When Olaf put his hand around her waist she visibly shuddered but she kept the smile pinned onto her face. “Just go to back to sleep. I’ll be back soon. I’ll wake you when I return. I’ll be fine.”  
It was like every word she said was a delay to keep her in the room with her siblings. Olaf had noticed that too and was guiding her out of the door.  
“Settle down Sunny.” Even as they were leaving she continued to talk. “And please don’t fret. I’ll be fine.”  
As Klaus went to charge after the pair, Olaf stopped by the doorway and faced him. The expression on his face was so terrible, Klaus visibly recoiled.  
“If you follow us,” Olaf pointed his dagger at Klaus’ chest, “I will run you through with this knife. And then I’ll do the same to your sisters.”  
The door closed.  
Klaus could feel Sunny’s eyes boring into him, but he couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t explain what he didn’t understand. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t fought to protect them more. For all of his reading and logic, Klaus Baudelaire felt incredibly helpless. 

He woke to the sound of running water. Dazed and confused he rubbed his eyes and looked to the grubby window. It was still dark outside. Besides the water, the rest of the house was eerily quiet and not even the outside world seemed to make a sound.  
Sunny was curled on the bed snuffling slightly; there were tear stains on her cheeks and he felt another pang of guilt that he hadn't seen her crying.  
Curiousity took over from his caution and he crept out of the room. The bathroom was just a few doors down and when he touched the handle he was surprised to find it unlocked.  
Fear gripped him. What was he doing out of the room? Why was he investigating a bath being drawn at this time of night in a house filled with dangerous people? He couldn’t imagine Olaf’s associates washing. He didn’t want to.  
But as Klaus made the decision to go back to bed, he remembered that Violet had not yet returned. He pushed the door open.  
A girl cried out in surprise. The dress she wore had been torn, it was falling off her shoulders and so she was left having to hold it in place. On her thin shoulders he could see a dozen marks. Her dark hair tumbled around her pale face as if it had been pulled out of its previous style with excessive force. Blood trickled down her chin from a cut on her lip. Her dark eyes regarded him with fear.  
It was Violet.  
“Are you okay?” It was a stupid thing to say. Even without his glasses he would have been able to see that she was not okay. But it was an easier question to ask than ‘what happened?’  
Violet took a step away from him. “Yes. It's this dress. It's difficult to get out of so I had to tear it. Go back to bed, Klaus.”  
He felt unable to move. “Violet, I can-”  
“What you can do is go back to bed.” He’d never heard her be so short with him. “Go now.”  
When he reached out a hand to her she pulled away trembling. It felt awful. 

Violet returned to the room some time later, her skin pink as if she’d been scrubbing it raw in the boiling water. Rather than assuming her usual place next to him, she’d gone to the opposite side of the room and curled up in a ball. He pretended to be asleep so he didn’t have to ask why she’d done that.


	3. Pretty little face stopped me in my tracks

When she first arrived Olaf felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. The girl was a near identical copy of her mother. The sting from Beatrice’s slap all those years ago tingled in his cheek. Pale and slight, Violet held herself awkwardly like an ugly duckling who’d not yet realised its beauty. Beatrice had never had that problem; it made the daughter all the more endearing. Beatrice had grown up surrounded by people who had praised her beauty, giving her a certain air of entitlement. This girl had no doubt grown up in her mother's shadow and her uncertainty was delicious. Seeing the raven tresses that tumbled down her shoulders reminded him of Beatrice’s own unruly hair that perfectly matched a free spirited personality. Even as her dark eyes regarded him warily, he could see she’d inherited that same spirit.   
Twenty years ago he’d wanted Beatrice. Her easy charm with everyone and the way she flirted to get her own way made him want to possess her. When she threw her head back and laughed he wanted to grab her curls and pull her in close. When she pouted her lips coquettishly he wanted to kiss them. But that bastard Lemony had always served as her bloody guard dog, following her around with a worshipping devotion. The two were as thick as thieves and even though they moved in the same circles, Olaf could never get close enough to her without being under the watchful stare of her creature.   
One night Lemony had been distracted enough to find himself mysteriously ill and unable to attend one of their gatherings. When Beatrice excused herself, Olaf followed and it wasn’t long before he found himself kissing her.   
She tasted even better than he expected. The first taste spurred on his hunger until he was consumed by a fiery passion.   
Then she slapped him.   
It had been so random he’d recoiled from her in shock. She looked murderous.   
“I am not your conquest.”   
Before he could do anything else she had run from the room. He never had an opportunity with her again.   
Olaf had wanted her to escape the fire. He’d left plenty of ways out. In his mind he saw Beatrice the wealthy widow in mourning for her husband and turning to him for comfort. A conquest and a fortune all in one day. But instead she chose to die. He suspected she had stayed behind to try and help her husband. However he didn’t mourn her death. She’d left him a penniless orphan after all.   
Seeing as he couldn’t have the woman, perhaps he’d have to settle for the daughter. 

He’d made sure Violet would be left alone as soon as possible. Away from her siblings she knelt scrubbing the wooden floor in the kitchen. She made such a pretty picture there; hunched over the bucket , a tendril of hair escaping from her ponytail. Even in such unfortunate circumstances she hummed as she worked.   
“La Forza del Destino.”  
She looked startled, like a baby lamb who’d just encountered a wolf. Knowing the danger but quite unsure what to do with itself. She was right not to run from him. “Yes. My parents favourite opera.”  
“Mine too. It was the first one they saw together. Years later it was also their last.”   
He saw the conflict of emotions on her face. Curiousity, pity, hatred and fear. If only she knew the truth.   
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She looked like she genuinely meant it too. He wondered if she was another pretty actress like her mother.   
He pulled her to her feet, enjoying feeling her flinch away from his touch. He pulled her in close, close enough to count every eyelash around those beautiful anxious eyes. When he stroked her face with his hand she trembled.   
“You look so like your mother.”  
“Really?” Some of the fear had gone, as he’d known it would with the compliment. “Everyone says I look like father.”   
“Then they did not know your mother when she was your age. You look so like her.”   
The colour rose to her cheeks and she blushed prettily. Every girl wants to be compared to their mother, especially one as beautiful as Beatrice. He wondered if anyone had ever told this little thing that she was beautiful.   
When a tear rolled down her cheek he brushed it away gently with his thumb.   
“I should be getting back to work.”  
“No.”   
He knew he couldn’t do anything yet. He’d promised himself he would wait. But he needed something. Slowly he began to circle the girl as if he were a snake circling its prey. His hands stroked her as he went, taking in every curve and crevice. When she began to hunch over in embarrassment, he traced his hand down her spine to get her to straighten up. How worried she looked! It was delicious. 

I stay still. Frozen. I feel rooted to the floor like a tree unable to escape, but able to sway my branches to the breeze and grow towards the sunlight.   
There’s no sunlight in this room. And with Olaf circling me I’m afraid to move in any direction. When his hands brush past my chest I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. From the look on his face I know that’s what he wants. He wants me to show fear so I won’t let him see any.   
Mother always taught me that bullies like to see a reaction. If you don’t give them one they will get bored and go away. I try to summon up her voice in my head as I stand in my little prison.   
Did she know Olaf? How well? Why did we not meet him until after they died? Surely they can’t have been close to this odious man?   
Olaf’s hand rests on my hip as he stands behind me, the palm pressing into the bone. He pulls me in tighter and I stumble slightly. His head rests on my shoulder while his long fingers softly stroke the top of my skirt. I feel him sniff against my neck, his lips brushing at my skin.   
I want to scream but who would come? Why is he doing this?   
"Do you like it here?"   
What am I supposed to say to that? Of course I don't like it here, I hate it here. But I can't say that. I feel his chuckle against my cheek.   
"Good girl for not lying to me."   
I want to be as far away from him as possible. I want to be back in my own room in my house. I want to be inventing things with Father, laughing with Mother. I do not want this man leaning over me.   
"The kitchen floor is done." It's not. It's nowhere near done. "I need to see how Klaus and Sunny are getting on."  
When I go to leave he catches my hand in his and pulls me back.   
"Won't you give your Father a kiss before you leave?"  
I want to scream at him that he's not my Father. My Father was kind and intelligent and brilliant. He will never be my Father.   
His face is inches away from mine. Inquisitive. Expectant. Threatening.   
Mother always said I didn't have to do anything that made me uncomfortable. She promised she would always be there for me to go to. But she's not here. She's gone and I don't know what to do. I'm too afraid of what he could do if I refuse him.   
As I lean in I have to stop myself from gagging at the staleness of his breath. The pungent odour from poor hygiene and excessive drinking. The stubble on his cheek looks harsh. I wonder if the spikes will hurt.   
My lips brush so faintly against his cheek it was barely there at all and yet I feel as if I am the most terrible traitor.

He watches her flee from him with a quiet satisfaction. By the time she was eighteen she'd be eating out of the palm of his hand. Particularly if those bratty siblings of hers happened to get sick and tragically pass away. If only there was a way to speed up time. He straightened up. Well maybe not time, maybe just the series of events.


	4. Now she sleeps with one eye open

Beatrice, going, going, gone. 

He woke to the sound of running water. Dazed and confused, he rubbed his eyes and looked to the grubby window. It was still dark outside. Besides the water, the rest of the house was eerily quiet and not even the outside world seemed to make a sound.   
Sunny was curled on the bed snuffling slightly; there were tear stains on her cheeks and he felt another pang of guilt that he hadn't seen her crying.   
Curiousity took over from his caution and he crept out of the room. The bathroom was just a few doors down and when he touched the handle, he was surprised to find it unlocked.   
Fear gripped him. What was he doing out of the room? Why was he investigating a bath being drawn at this time of night in a house filled with dangerous people? He couldn't imagine Olaf's associates washing. He didn't want to.   
But as Klaus made the decision to go back to bed, he remembered that Violet had not yet returned. He pushed the door open.   
A girl cried out in surprise. The dress she wore had been torn, it was falling off her shoulders and so she was having to hold it in place. On her thin shoulders he could see a dozen marks. Her dark hair tumbled around her pale face as if it had been pulled out of its previous style with excessive force. Blood trickled down her chin from a cut on her lip. Her dark eyes regarded him with fear.   
It was Violet.   
"Are you okay?" It was a stupid thing to say. Even without his glasses he would have been able to see that she was not okay. But it was an easier question to ask than "What happened?"  
Violet took a step away from him. "Yes. It's this dress. It's difficult to get out of so I had to tear it. Go back to bed, Klaus."   
He felt unable to move. "Violet, I can-"  
"What you can do is go back to bed." He'd never heard her be so short with him. "Go now."  
When he reached out a hand to her she pulled away trembling. It felt awful. 

Violet returned to the room some time later, her skin pink as if she'd been scrubbing it raw in the boiling water. Rather than assuming her usual place next to him, she'd gone to the opposite side of the room and curled up in a ball. He pretended to be asleep so he didn't have to ask why she'd done that.


	5. That's the price she'll pay

Beatrice, you are my only desire. Such a shame that you perished by fire. 

There is a story of a mythical bird called a Phoenix. The Phoenix is quite unlike other birds in that it is immortal. The legend goes that as its time comes the elderly Phoenix will burst into flames, but from the ashes will rise up new again. It is a story that has lasted through the ages because it brings people hope. It offers them a chance at salvation.   
Reader, if you believe this story is going to miraculously rise like a phoenix from the ashes, then you are sadly mistaken. The fire has burned. The ashes will stay dead. The three Baudelaire's are not mythical birds, they are children. And I am sorry to say that they are very frightened children indeed.   
As each of them opened their eyes that morning, none of them made to get out of bed. In all honesty, Klaus was surprised he'd survived the night. He'd been haunted with visions of shadowy figures coming to place a pillow over his face while he slept. Yet finding himself alive that morning didn't fill him with joy, only the dread of anticipation.   
What was going to happen to them they could not say. As Klaus got himself and Sunny dressed he tried to think of a way of escaping to Justice Strauss' house without being seen.   
His sister Violet remained where she was, staring into space as if she were building a machine in her mind. He hoped she was. An enormous hot air balloon they could escape and spend their lives in, with no adults to ruin things for them.   
The scrape of a hook against the door interrupted his fantasy.   
"Count wants to know why you're not downstairs yet." The hook handed man sneered at them. "Celebrations are over. Back to work today."   
"Blando." Said Sunny which meant something along the lines of, speaking of which when are you going to get a real job?  
Before the hookhanded man could turn to her, Klaus scooped Sunny up and hurried for the door. Violet stood quietly in the room holding onto her dress for the day.   
"I need to get changed."   
The hookhanded man sneered at her. "Count Olaf said I need to keep a close eye on you."   
Klaus opened his mouth to intervene but Violet beat him to the punch.   
"Then I look forward to his reaction when I tell him that you insisted on watching his wife dress." Her voice was cold. "I can't imagine how difficult it would be to have to adapt to having hooks for feet too."   
For a moment Klaus was sure the hookhanded man was going to strike her, he looked so murderous. But after shaking for a little while, he stepped back.   
"You have two minutes. If you're not ready by then I'll drag you downstairs no matter what you look like."   
When he closed the door Klaus turned to him and said fiercely. "You can't talk to my sister like that. You can't threaten her or any of us. We're not afraid of you."   
Or at least, that's what Klaus wished he'd said. Instead he let the two minutes pass in silence, cursing himself for not being any braver. By the time Violet emerged from their room he wanted to cling onto her and seek her reassurances that everything was going to be alright. But as he reached for her, she pulled away. 

"So what am I to do with you?"  
As Count Olaf towered over the three Baudelaire's, each of them desperately tried to think they were somewhere else.   
Violet remembered a time she'd been taken to a factory and watched in fascination as the machines put together the various cogs and whirs of a pocketwatch. At the end of the day she'd been presented with her own pocketwatch and it became the first thing she deconstructed and rebuilt. Whenever she found herself unhappy, she would return to that pocketwatch and go through the process of rebuilding it. It served a reminder to her that there was always a way to fix things.   
Klaus remembered their library. His earliest memories were in that room, his hands brushing over pages filled with words he could not yet read. When his parents read to him he thought it was magic to be able to make wonderful stories come to life from something so simple and vowed he would learn that magic too. Whenever he found himself at a loss, he would read a book and escape to a dozen different worlds where he could be anything he wanted to be.   
Sunny remembered the kitchen. Her parents would sit her on the kitchen counter as they made dinner while she would chew on a wooden spoon or a raw carrot. She'd watch transfixed as her parents sung together while they cooked. They were always singing. Whenever she found herself thinking life was unfair, mainly when there was nothing to bite, she'd remember the songs her parents sang in the kitchen. Songs that showed there was merriment everywhere if you would only look for it.   
Unfortunately Reader, although the Baudelaire children were left feeling unhappy, at a loss and that life was hopelessly unfair, none of these memories were helping.   
"So what am I to do with you?"  
The children knew full well that this was a rhetorical question. A rhetorical question being one asked for the purpose of dramatic effect rather than the need to have an answer. For example a one armed lion tamer may ask the lion in front of the audience why it felt the need to chew off their arm. The lion obviously will be unable to answer, but the audience will appreciate the tragic dialogue.   
Even though it was Count Olaf asking the question, it felt very much like he was the lion and that the Baudelaire's were waiting to be ripped limb from limb.   
Eventually Count Olaf grew bored of rhetorical questions and poured himself another glass of wine. Klaus tried not to raise an eyebrow.   
"I haven't decided what to do with you brats just yet." Wine spilled down the side of his mouth. "I suppose I ought to give you some form of thanks seeing as you behaved yourselves yesterday and didn't let anything go awry. In any case, no decisions will be made until your fortune has been transferred to my bank account."   
"Gando." Sunny said which meant I'm surprised someone as stupid as you even has a bank account.   
Klaus wished he still spoke in baby babble and could get away with things like that.   
Olaf scowled unpleasantly at Sunny. "Children should be seen and not heard. Particularly ones who can't even talk yet." He turned to Violet. "When does it stop being a baby?"   
His older sister flinched. Klaus wondered if she'd been in a daydream still.   
"There's a lot of milestones." Violet gabbled. "She's still learning to talk and she'll be walking soon."   
Olaf grunted and took another swig of wine. "And what do you think, wife? I only really need to keep you alive. What shall I do with your siblings?"  
Violet swallowed. "Keep them safe. You're still our legal guardian."   
Olaf pouted as if trying to mock her facial expression. But where Violet looked tragic, Olaf only looked more odious. "Why should I? Why should I not arrange a tragic accident? Or two runaway children who are never found?"  
Klaus felt his stomach clench. Speaking up himself wasn't going to do any favours. He could only put his hopes in Violet.   
"There's still chores to be done." His older sister was saying carefully. "I won't be able to do them by myself quickly enough for you. With three of us we can do it."   
Olaf leaned towards her. It was as if they were the only ones in the room. When he brushed the hair from her face, Klaus saw her jaw clench.   
"Will that make you happy?"   
Her eyes never left his. "Yes."  
"And how well behaved will you be?"   
There was a pause.   
"Perfectly."   
Olaf seemed to remember the other Baudelaire children. As he looked at Klaus he planted a gentle kiss on Violet's forehead, like a father might do as he said good night to his children. As his own Father had done. It made his skin crawl. Olaf would never be their father.   
Thankfully the shrill shriek of the telephone interrupted them.   
Without the dismissal to leave, the Baudelaire's sat in their seats desperately hoping to overhear something of importance. The person on the other end of the phone was doing a lot of talking and they could see Olaf's growing impatience.   
"Yes, yes enough of that." He snapped. "Just tell me in a nutshell."   
In a nutshell is a very useful expression. The Roman writer Pliny described a copy of Homer’s Iliad that was in such a tiny hand that it could fit into the shell of a nut. Nobody believed it could be done so this priceless work was put into a nut and shown to the people. However, a rather hungry squirrel stole onto the stage and took it away. Now we say in a nutshell to remind people to say things quickly before any hungry squirrels can intervene.   
It is a useful expression for all sorts of busy people, particularly volunteers.   
Clearly the news was not good. Olaf's eyes had grown shinier, as they did whenever he grew angry. Finally he hung up the phone and stalked over to the window, peering out from behind the curtains.   
The Baudelaire children looked at one another. Was it safe to leave? Or were they supposed to stay? They didn't have long to deliberate on this before Olaf slammed a list of chores on the table before them.   
"Four eyes and bitey, you're dismissed."   
As Violet rose to leave with them, Olaf slammed his fist on the table.   
"I didn't say you could leave."   
Klaus could see his sister trembling. "There's double the amount of chores on here." He stammered. "It will be impossible for me and Sunny to do it all today. Some of the things I need help with and Sunny's only a baby-"  
Olaf rounded on him. "Do I look like your HR department? Find a way to complete your chores. I am allowing you to live, at the moment, I would suggest not trying my patience."  
"Do I have a list of chores?" Violet stepped between them. "Perhaps if I manage to work quickly through mine I can help Klaus and Sunny at the end of the day?"   
The smile Olaf gave her didn't quite reach his eyes. "No chores for you today, Violet. We have other things to do."   
When she opened her mouth to speak he grabbed her arm. "A perfectly behaved wife doesn't answer back." He snapped. "Particularly if she wants to keep her siblings alive."


	6. I took out a knife and cut out her eye

Beatrice, when I was with you I felt very brave, but now I am a coward for you are in your grave. 

"Psst! Psst!"   
Reader, you would be correct to identify that psst is not a word. It has no definition in the dictionary and it certainly won't be appearing in a spelling bee any time soon.   
What psst is is an example of onomatopoeia. Onomatopoeia is the formation of a word from a sound associated with what is named. For example, an author might write "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!" as a miniature bird leaps out of the clock. Or they may choose to write "sizzle" to describe sausages frying in a pan. Or they could describe the sound a Judge the other side of a hedge trying to attract the attention of the right person as psst. Psst.   
"Psst! Psst!"  
Klaus clocked a look at the windows of the house to make sure he wasn't being watched.   
He wasn't.   
"Bondla." Sunny said from the patch of leaves she was meant to be sweeping. It meant I'll stand guard.   
"Psst!"   
A small gap in the hedge revealed the worn face of Justice Strauss. At the sight of him she gave a sigh of relief.   
"Thank goodness, I've been waiting for you all day."   
"We've been kept busy." The chore list in his pocket was proof of that. "This is the first time we've been outside."  
"Are you being watched?"  
The bald man with the long nose had fallen asleep long ago. Klaus shook his head.   
"I'm so sorry, Klaus." Justice Strauss had tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry. It's my job to be aware of criminal activity and instead of protecting you, I led you into more danger. Can you ever forgive me?"   
It felt confusing that a part of Klaus wanted to say no. A small angry part of him wanted to push her away and curse her for being so stupid. He wanted to tell her that she was blinded by the thought of fame and stage make-up, that she was no different to all the other adults who let him down.   
But Klaus Baudelaire was, above all things, a very logical boy. He was also able to see how easily Count Olaf manipulated people, how this was such a shocking plan no one would have believed it. He managed to give her a small smile.   
"Of course we forgive you."   
"Jeno!" Called out Sunny which meant something along the lines of I don't!  
"Is Sunny well?"   
Sunny replied that she was still shocked that no adult had found it even the slightest bit strange that a grown man wanted to marry a child, even if it was for a play, and was contemplating if the older you got the more stupid you became.   
However, as Sunny is only a baby, Justice Strauss didn't hear any of that and Klaus didn't think it would be a good idea to enlighten her.   
"She's been helping me with the chores."   
"How's Violet?"   
Klaus' face pinched with worry. "I've not seen her all day. There's been no sign of her or Olaf and the car is gone."   
Justice Strauss pursed her lips. "He's probably taken her to the bank to arrange the transfer of your parents fortune. But don't worry, Klaus. I've frozen your parents account. If Olaf wants your fortune, he'll have to go to court to fight for it."  
It was the happiest Klaus had felt in a long time. Certainly the first time he'd felt positive since the death of his parents. It finally felt like one of the adults was looking after things.   
As Sunny shrieked something that meant Justice Strauss was in her good books once more, Klaus took her hand. What he really wanted was a hug, but the gap in the hedge wouldn't allow it.   
Justice Strauss stroked his hand kindly. "I promise you, Klaus, I'm fighting this. We'll find a way to get the three of you away from that terrible man. You may just have to stay strong a while. There's no precedent for this case. Precedent means -"  
"An earlier event or action that is regarded as an example or guide to be considered in subsequent similar circumstances." Klaus gave a small smile. "I didn't think anything like this would have happened before."   
"We could certainly argue that the premise of the marriage as a play was a way of tricking Violet. She consented to be an actress for his performance, not to be his wife."   
Klaus shook his head sadly. "She knew. We all did. He knew she'd refuse so he threatened Sunny."   
"We must make sure he can't use her as leverage again." Justice Strauss frowned. "Leave it with me, Klaus. I'm also trying to remove you from his care as guardian. However, as he's not done anything illegal - that can be proved" she added as Klaus opened his mouth, "it's proving difficult."   
"What does Mr Poe say?"   
"Mr Poe is currently flooded with indignant letters from people demanding to know why you weren't sent to them first. It seems your parents had a lot of friends."   
The thought made Klaus sad. If that were the case why were they not with these friends? Why were they with Count Olaf? Why had their parents not introduced them to any of these friends? He couldn't ever recall his parents having friends, although he supposed they must have. But there were never any occasions he was introduced to anyone. And what if they were with Count Olaf because all these other friends were far more terrible? No. Surely no one could be more terrible than Count Olaf.   
Years later, Klaus Baudelaire would laugh at his childish naivity. He had learned by that point that in this world there are far more terrible people than Count Olaf.   
"Can we come and live with you?" He asked hopefully. "I could assist you with your cases. Violet could invent things, I'm sure she can come up with a device that could see if someone was telling the truth. Sunny only really likes biting at the moment, but I'm sure as she gets older she'll learn to do something more useful."   
"Mordo" Sunny yelled which meant Fine. The next time you're in trouble I won't intervene with my sharp teeth. I'll just watch you try and fight them off yourself. Don't break your glasses now.  
Klaus decided to tell himself that it was the lack of sleep that was making his sister cranky.   
Justice Strauss beamed. "Of course! You wait, we'll get all this unpleasantness out of the way and before you know it you'll be living with me."   
Unpleasant can be used to describe a range of different things. If your food is seasoned with too much salt it can be unpleasant. Kissing your elderly grandmother with bad breath is unpleasant. The sound of a bad tempered vice principal playing the violin poorly is unpleasant.   
A young girl forced into marriage with a man old enough to be her father for the purpose of stealing a fortune and having the younger siblings forced to work like slaves, is far more than unpleasant.   
"Hey! Who are you talking to?" The bald man with the long nose shot up from his deck chair. "And why does the baby look so suspicious?"  
"Goo goo gah gah" Sunny said which meant suspicious? Moi?  
"I'm just pruning the hedge." Klaus lied, hoping the associate was too stupid to know that a gardening rake is not what you use to prune a hedge.   
The bald man with the long nose lumbered over to him, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Klaus chanced a look at the gap in the hedge. Justice Strauss was gone.   
"If you're thinking of spying on the neighbours think again." The bald man sneered. "My mother wouldn't let me spy on my neighbours, so I won't let you spy on yours."   
Klaus decided not to question that.   
"Are you finished yet? It's getting dark and the boss will want dinner on the table by the time he returns."   
The garden was by no means tidy, but it was a lot better than it was. If Olaf did want his dinner then this would have to do. He made a mental note to spit in his food.   
"Yes, all done."   
As the two youngest Baudelaire's were frog marched inside, they kept their eyes peeled for Violet. She was nowhere to be seen.   
In the kitchen the two white faced women were nursing a bottle of wine laughing between themselves. As the children entered they eyed them suspiciously but did not move from their spot.   
A chunk of beef lay on the counter. Klaus could still feel the slap he'd received from Olaf the last time the man had fancied roast beef. He wondered if the white faced women would notice if he dropped it on the dirty floor.   
There was still the problem they had no idea how to make roast beef. His mother had always said that cooking was about so much more than throwing something in the oven, but that was the extent of their knowledge. How long did it go in the oven? How was it seasoned?   
Klaus was still puzzling over all of this when one of the white faced women spoke up.   
"The cupboard above you to your left."   
It was the thinnest book he'd ever come across, but it was still a cookbook.   
That's how cooking the dinner went. The two white faced women remained at their table, but watched the children beadily and offered suggestions or let them know where something was as and when they needed to. Klaus was sure he even saw them smile as he took the food out of the oven.   
"Something smells amazing." The hook handed man came into the kitchen sniffing appreciatively. "Boss will appreciate that. He's on his way home now."   
"Is Violet okay?"  
The hook handed man frowned. "Why?"   
Klaus and Sunny exchanged a look. "She's been with Count Olaf all day. We've not seen or heard from her at all."   
The hook handed man tore off a strip of beef and began to chew. "Wherever your sister is, it's not with the boss. He left her at home."


	7. I took it home and watched it wither and die

Beatrice. Very Fortunately Dead.

If you've ever been to a carnival you may have seen lions prowling around in their cage. As carnivals tend to travel, they need to be as compact as possible. Therefore, any livestock they take with them is usually kept in far too cramped conditions. In order to keep the general public safe, lions will be caged up so they can't go out on an eating spree, but the tiny space they are allowed doesn't help with their already terrible mood. A lion will pace in it's cage growing angrier by the second as they are unable to come to terms with the fact it is trapped and completely helpless.   
Klaus Baudelaire was currently pacing like a lion. The roast beef lay cold on the table, the associates huddled around it licking their lips hungrily. If he'd not been so preocupied with concern for his sister, Klaus may have wondered why they didn't just all tuck in.   
Violet had not been seen since morning and it was now dark outside. Klaus didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.   
Sunny sat on the carpet with a stack of cards the hook handed man had given her. Before he'd gone to stare at the roast beef, the pair had been building a house of cards together. Klaus knew Sunny was just as worried, yet she somehow had the knack of being able to distract herself, even if only for a little while. It was a knack he envied.   
With Olaf gone, Klaus was able to imagine all the things he might say to him. He'd call him a terrible man and maybe punch him in the face. The associates would stop seeing him as a weak little boy and stand aside in astonishment at the new strong young man before them. In lions they called it the alpha male and that was what Klaus aimed to be.   
But when Olaf burst into the house, all of Klaus' delusions left. It would be a few years before he'd be able to fight him.   
Olaf also had the mannerisms of a particularly angry lion. The Baudelaire's shrank away from him as he poured himself a large glass of whiskey and knocked it back. Then another. And then another.   
Where was Violet? She wasn't in the car and she hadn't come in the house either. Was the hook handed man telling the truth?   
He was trying to comfort Olaf now. "What's up boss?"   
Olaf grimaced. "They blocked the transfer of my new money. Apparently if I want to get what is rightfully mine, I must first prove myself in court. They say that while there is nothing in law about a father marrying his daughter, it is morally repugnant. Therefore they want to use this case as a way of bringing in a new law. But you can't just make something illegal after it's happened just because you're angry you didn't think of it first. I've spent hours at the bank but that stupid Poe will not budge."   
It was the first useful thing Poe had done. Klaus had to stop himself from smiling.   
As Olaf turned to face him, Klaus wondered if the man could read minds.   
"Don't worry, orphan" He wheezed. "Before the week is out I'll have my hands on your fortune and not even your big sister will be able to protect you from me. I could send you to hard labour in a lumberjack mill for the rest of your lives or drown you in leech infested waters. Your fate will depend very much on not pissing me off. Is that quite clear?"   
Klaus gritted his teeth. "Perfectly."   
"At this court case, your sister will have to stand up before everyone and tell them how hopelessly in love with me she is. Under my direction she'll be quite the talented little actress. However, I'll be continuing to use the two of you as leverage so don't do anything stupid. We don't want anyone getting hurt."  
"You can't do anything to hurt me." Klaus spoke up, suddenly far braver than he felt. "My parents are dead and my home is destroyed. I'll tell Violet to stand up in court and tell the truth. I don't care what happens to me."   
The associates started to cackle and all the courage Klaus had felt disappeared. It was a peculiar feeling. Like seeing light at the end of the tunnel only to discover you were actually trapped down a well and at the top a dozen wicked people were laughing at you.   
I have had this happen to me more times than I care to count, and I can confirm it is not a pleasant feeling.   
"You may not care what happens to you, Klaus." Olaf laughed. "But what of the little baby? How would you feel if I sold her to a burger factory? You poor parents watching over you would feel so let down. And don't think anyone would protest. I know a factory that are relying on scrawny cats at the moment, they'd welcome a nice plump baby."   
"Gazo!" Sunny cried which meant who are you calling plump, punk?  
"Then there's Violet." Olaf rose from his chair and walked over to him, his voice soft. To anyone watching the scene from the other side of a window, they might see the man leaning down to the young boy as an affectionate fatherly gesture. It was anything but.   
"Oh, Klaus I can promise you I can make things so much worse for her. In these 24 hours I've been a kind, loving husband. I've even kept her from your chores." He straightened up with a dangerous look in his eyes. "But if you test my patience, her punishment will be far worse than scrubbing floors. And I'll be sure to tell her it's all your fault."   
It was as if the well were filling with water and Klaus could not swim.   
"Where is Violet?"   
Olaf looked gleeful. "How should I know? I've been at the bank all day. Don't tell me your beloved sister has been avoiding you? What a shame, it looks like cracks are forming in the foundations."   
When the soil under your home cannot support the weight of the house, the foundations will begin to crack under the pressure and uneveness of the ground below. These cracks will only ever get worse, spreading through the entire foundation until your home crumples on the ground as if it were never there at all. The death of their parents had made their world uneven and the children were left to support the weight of life on their own. It was no wonder the cracks had begun to show. Klaus could only wonder how much longer it would be before his world came toppling down around him. Just like Sunny's house of cards.


	8. Well she's lucky

Beatrice, when the world feels rather wrong, I think of us and your favourite song. 

The world is quiet here. It is a phrase that an ordinary person would find quite simple, however a volunteer would think differently. It has a wealth of meanings, none of which are right. It refers to the safe tranquillity of a library you take sanctuary in. It means the stillness you breathe a sigh of relief in as there the screaming sirens have stopped. Or the definition can be how you feel when you look around the charred remains of a home knowing that the woman you love is dead and you will never hear her again.   
As Klaus lay in bed desperately afraid for himself and his sisters, the anticipation eating away at him inside, he thought to himself the world is quiet here.   
There's no happy endings in any of this. So if that is what you seek, I highly recommend you look elsewhere. There are all sorts of stories with fantastic adventures and heroes who are safe. This is quite a different tale.   
When the door handle turned, Sunny and Klaus held their breath. Would it be a friend? Or a foe?   
It was Violet.   
Evidently the worry had been all too much for Sunny, she burst into tears and reached out for her. Part of Klaus wanted to do the same.   
As Violet scooped Sunny into her arms and gently kissed the top of her head, Klaus reached out for her and was hurt when she pulled away.   
"Where have you been?"  
"Olaf wanted me to clean his room." She grimaced. "It will take months before it's anywhere near acceptable. You should see the grime around the windows."   
Some years ago Violet had come home drenched in water. She'd told her parents it had been raining outside even though Klaus could clearly see there wasn't a cloud in the sky. The following day their mother went with Violet to school and nothing like that ever happened again. Klaus wasn't sure what their mother had done, but it was enough to bring back the spring in Violet's step. Yet, he never forgot the look on her face.   
She was wearing the same look now.   
"I saw Justice Strauss today." He figured she could do with some good news. "We met at a gap in the hedge. She's blocked from Olaf getting our fortune. If Olaf wants to get it he'll have to go to court. They may even dissolve your marriage!"   
To his surprise Violet didn't look any more hopeful. "Only if they chose to make that very fortunate decision." She said bitterly. "But Olaf is too cunning. He'll come up with something. Blackmail the jury, anything."   
Klaus frowned. "I'm just trying to reassure you, Violet. Reassure all of us. There is a bright side."   
A flash of temper flared in his sisters eyes. "No, Klaus." She snapped. "There isn't a bright side. Olaf has won and we have lost. We can only make the best of a bad situation. Hoping for anything more will just see us getting hurt."   
The expression having a rug pulled from under you comes from an old method of torture for when there wasn't much around to be particularly threatening with. The person you wanted information from would be made to stand on a rug where it was then pulled out from under them and they'd topple to the floor. This horrible feeling of your stomach flipping would eventually be enough to spill all the secrets you held dear to.   
Seeing his normally optimistic sister suddenly become so harsh was like having the rug pulled from under him. All his life Violet had been there to comfort and reassure. He'd taken her kindness for granted, never expecting to see the shell he saw now. It was horrible feeling of having your stomach flip. But something told Klaus that he wasn't the one with secrets to spill. 

The following day Olaf and his associated locked themselves up in the tower with strict instructions not to be disturbed. In his keenness to start his own work, the chore list Olaf had given them was relatively small. It meant Klaus could escape to the gap in the hedge a lot sooner. As the sun began to lower in the sky, Justice Strauss appeared.   
"Any news?"   
"Are you sure you're alone?"  
Klaus glanced up at the tower. The shadows of Olaf and his accomplices loomed against the dirty window.   
"Yes."  
"Where is Violet?"   
Right on cue the shadow of his sister came into view holding another bottle of wine for Olaf and his troupe. It had been another day of the eldest Baudelaire actively avoiding the younger two. They only saw her when she was fetching drinks and she would hurry past them as if they were ghosts of her past she didn't want to be reminded of. It was very hurtful.   
"She's been kept busy." It wasn't a lie. "We've barely seen her."   
Justice Strauss paused. "Where does she sleep?"  
"In the room with us."   
She nodded. "Good. In treacherous times like these it's good to keep your family close."  
"Vangor." Piped up Sunny which meant and your enemies closer.   
The judge smiled kindly down at her. "Don't worry, little one. It will all be sorted soon. I've put in an application to care for you three while the trial is ongoing. I've argued that with you all being in his care could lead to intimidation of witnesses. Your testimonies will be very important to this case."   
Klaus laughed and ruffled Sunny's hair. "I'll translate for Sunny."  
Alright Shakespeare.  
"How was Olaf last night?"  
"Very angry. He's tucked away plotting something now."  
"Have no fear, Baudelaire's. Justice always wins." She gave them a big smile. "Sometimes it seems like a life of crime is the easier way, but truth and decency always wins in the end. You'll see soon enough. In the meantime pack your things so you can have a speedy getaway when I come to collect you soon."  
Klaus didn't have the heart to tell her they didn't really have things to pack. He'd been wearing the same trousers for a week now while they waited for money to buy laundry detergent. And poor Sunny was outgrowing most of her things.   
Dear Reader, if you hoped that I would come in here and let you know that Justice Strauss would arrive to collect the children and take them on a massive shopping spree you would be sadly mistaken. If I were a writer of fiction I'm sure I could slip such a marvellous anecdote in there, but I present the facts. And the facts are bleak. I cannot even tell you to hold much faith in Justice Strauss, no matter her good intentions. 

That evening Violet was left to make dinner while Klaus and Sunny sifted through the garden picking up old cigarette butts. It was incredibly boring and by the time they were finished, five large buckets were filled.   
"Orphans! Dinner!"   
The youngest Baudelaire's hurriedly rushed in to wash their hands before sitting at the table. In an unusual gesture of generosity, Count Olaf had insisted the children join him for dinner. Luckily, they were far too clever to fall for his fatherly smile and affectionate pats on the head. Instead the kept quiet and watched him warily.   
In a pride of lions you may have noticed that the males are vastly outnumbered. This is due to the alpha male being unable to stand any competition. When a male cub turns two, it will often be kicked out of the pride or even killed. The wariness the younger Baudelaire's watched Olaf with now was a similar wariness a lion cub must feel on the eve of its second birthday.   
When Violet set down a plate of food in front of Olaf and turned to leave, he grabbed ahold of her wrist.   
"Thank you, dearest wife."  
All three of the Baudelaire's shuddered. But as Violet tried to squirm out of his grasp, his hand tightened.   
"Won't you give me a kiss, wife?" The words were to Violet and yet Olaf was staring at Klaus, his shiny eyes dancing with a challenge.   
Violet looked at her younger siblings. "I- I need to finish bringing out dinner."  
"You can do that in a second. Give me a kiss first."   
It was easy for anyone to see that Violet would much rather throw up all over the floor. She paled as her dark eyes darted from her family to her husband.   
"Please, not now."   
"Why?"   
It was a whisper. "I don't want to."   
All the mischief from Olaf's eyes vanished. He looked murderous. Violet cried out in pain as he pulled her by the wrist into the kitchen and slammed the door. Klaus rose from his seat and a few seconds later he heard a scream followed by the smash of china.   
Running to the door, Klaus seriously wondered if he'd be able to fight this terrible man and win.   
Standing by a smashed plate Olaf looked considerably calmer and as if nothing untoward had happened. An outsider might think he was waiting for the kettle to boil.   
Violet, on the other hand, had tears in her eyes and held a shaking hand to her cheek.   
"Your sister dropped a plate." Olaf said in a bored voice as Klaus hesitated in the doorway. "A rather expensive one too. At least she has the money to replace it." He turned to her and grinned, exposing a row of browning teeth. "What do you say?"  
"I'm sorry for breaking the plate." She stumbled over the words, her wide eyes staring at it in shock.   
When Olaf slid his arm around her waist she leaned away. "I'll forgive you." He promised. "When you give me that kiss."   
Klaus knew he had to do something. He had to jump in and save his sister. But even though his fists curled, he remained quite rooted to the spot.   
I feel the need to remind any unsympathetic readers here that although Klaus desperately wanted to be a strong man, he was only a boy of twelve. A boy of twelve on the smaller, slighter side who stood no chance against a grown man with surprising physical strength. Klaus' heroism would always come in his intelligence, but it would be a little while before he could use that.   
Tears clinging to Violet's eyelashes, she leaned in and placed the smallest kiss on Olaf's lips. As she pulled away, Klaus could see some of her tears had stayed on his cheeks.   
The smile Olaf gave him was an incredibly cruel satisfied one, but Klaus was not looking at his guardian. He was looking at his sister and feeling incredibly betrayed.


	9. I didn't slip her a smile

Beatrice, I loved you in a world of strife. It wasn't long before it took your life. 

Families have all sorts of routines. For some it is waking up in the morning to freshly squeezed orange juice, a day of learning and board games before bed. For others it is being rudely awakened by a shrieking alarm clock, grabbing a bite of toast and spending your working day confused and out of your depth before falling exhausted into bed. For my family, our routine was waking up somewhere different every day and making sure the poison darts were safely secured in your bag rather than your pocket. My mother would also insist on the packing of our tea set, yet my little sister would always forget the sugar bowl and we'd have to dash back for it. My brother had pointed out that we could assign someone else to look after our tea set, but father insisted our traditions be upheld.   
The Baudelaire's had a different kind of routine altogether. They would be awakened by the sun streaming through their curtainless windows. Then came a shower so cold they would have to make it as quick as possible. Downstairs a list would be waiting for them filled with every kind of horrible chore you could imagine, the handwriting getting steadily worse the drunker Olaf got the previous evening until it was completely illegible. The children would work through their gruelling labour, sneaking handfuls of dry cereal at lunchtime to tide them through the rest of the day. As the sun began to set, they would go to the gap in the hedge and be reassured by the optimistic Justice Strauss. Dinner was always catering for ten people which was fairly challenging for children who had never cooked before, let alone for ones quite so villainous who frequently changed their mind over what they wanted to eat. While the troupe ate, they would wolf down their food and go to bed.   
Since the marriage, the routine had changed a little. Violet had her own separate list throughout the day. For all the painted eyes around the house, it seemed Olaf did not want the Baudelaire's spending any time all together without someone keeping an eye on things. Usually while dinner was being prepared, a couple of his associates would be lingering in the kitchen, closely watching for any whispers.   
By the time they went to bed, Klaus and Sunny would be bursting, wanting to tell his sister about their conversation with Justice Strauss. But Violet would always say she was too tired and settle down in the corner with her back to them.   
Another part of the Baudelaire's routine was seeing the various marks on Violet's skin and listening to her excuses.   
"I fell."  
"I walked into the doorframe."  
"I cut myself on the carving knife."   
The most difficult part of the Baudelaire's routine was having to pretend to believe it.   
After two weeks, Klaus could contain it no longer.   
"That is a cigarette burn." He said, with more fierceness than intended. "Olaf did this to you."  
Violet's face was blank. Impassive. "It was the stove."   
"We used to share everything." Klaus felt himself flush. "Why won't you just tell us the truth? We know Olaf and his troupe are doing this. Just tell us and we can help you. Justice Strauss said if they hurt any of us we had to tell her. If you tell her then she can move us out of here."  
It was as if Klaus wasn't even there. Violet barely reacted to anything he said. Instead she pulled Sunny onto her lap and started fiddling with her hair.   
"Calbi." Sunny nestled against her sister. It meant, none of this is your fault. Let us look after you.  
"I'm the big sister." Violet interrupted. "It's my job to look after the two of you. End of discussion."  
Klaus wanted to shout that this wasn't her looking after them. They were in terrible danger and needed to get away, but he was afraid of hurting her feelings.   
"You're burying your head in the sand, Violet." He said eventually.   
"Ostriches don't actually bury their heads in the sand." It was the first time in a long time her tone sounded anything other than flat. "It's a common myth. What people perceive to be hiding their heads because they're scared, is actually them looking after their nest."  
When Klaus opened his mouth to retaliate, a look from Violet persuaded him it would do no good. 

"How's Violet?"  
She has a cigarette burn on her left forearm. There are rope burns around her wrist. She has a bitemark on her right shoulder. There are bruises from pinches on her arms. She has a cut under her left eye and her right is bruised.   
"She's fine."  
You may wonder why Klaus didn't just tell the truth. Surely then the three children would be whisked away and Count Olaf would go to prison for a very long time.   
However, Klaus felt differently. Over the series of unfortunate events in his life, he had come to the conclusion that villains would always have the upper hand. If he confided to Justice Strauss, she would go to the courts and tell them. They would then give Olaf the opportunity to defend himself which he would do, and afterwards come home and the children would no doubt be horribly punished. It was Klaus' greatest fear that one night they'd be roughly awakened and bundled into the back of the car to an unknown location where nobody would be able to find them.   
I understand his fear. That was my childhood.   
Justice Strauss had so far been unable to remove the Baudelaire children from Olaf's care, but she had succeeded in continuing to block him from getting his hands on the fortune. The case was scheduled for the following month. To Klaus it seemed far too long away, but Justice Strauss explained they needed plenty of time to get together a really strong legal case. He could only hope she was right.   
"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I can help you by going through your books and past cases."   
"Yaro!" Sunny cried which meant and I can help by sabotaging our beloved guardian.  
"I need you to stay strong for me." Justice Strauss squeezed their hands, her eyes bright and kind. "When the time comes you'll stand before the High Court and give your evidence. You must write everything down. Very finite details often help in tipping the balance of cases. You'll write down everything, won't you?"  
"We will." Something else was playing on Klaus' mind. "Why won't the High Court let us go and live with you? When Olaf finds out we'll be called as witnesses, we'll be in terrible danger."  
"He already knows." Justice Strauss said glumly. "Unfortunately removing you from his care is going to be a separate case. Marrying your sister was a morally repugnant act, but it was not illegal. Therefore we cannot say it makes him a bad guardian."  
"He locked my sister in a cage high in a tower!"  
"And I believe you." The judges face was earnest. "But Olaf denies it and we have no proof. Your testimony is seen as conflicted due to your desire to annul the marriage. I'm sorry to say it is far more complicated than we initially anticipated."   
The smile Klaus gave her in farewell wasn't entirely sincere. Truth be told, he was angry. What seemed so black and white to him was being dragged out and an irrational side of him blamed their kindly neighbour for getting their hopes up. 

The routine for the Baudelaire family had always been simple. Klaus was not a boy who particularly enjoyed spontaneity. He'd even insisted on being involved in the planning of all of his surprise birthday parties. Each morning he woke early so he could read, long before the rest of the house were up. Father would take them to school where he had a small close knit group of friends who shared his love for learning. After school, Mother would pick them up and he'd continue to read in the library before being dragged away for dinner. In the evenings he'd challenge someone to a game of chest or study the stars through a small hand held telescope he'd found tucked away.   
There were many aspects of Klaus' routine that he missed, the presence of his Mother and Father being the greatest ones. Not much could be done about a lot of things, but returning to school could work.   
My research into the lives of the Baudelaire children has shown that the following conversation took place in the dining room. It had been a fairly pleasant day, slightly cloudy and the temperature was nothing to complain about. Quite a typical day for an unfortunate event.   
Olaf had been drinking all day. He'd staggered into the room slurring his words and slumping in the chair. You might believe that this would make a weakened Count Olaf, but quite the opposite was true. When sober, Olaf was more calculating and restrained. When drunk he was wild and unpredictable.   
My research has not led me to understand why Klaus Baudelaire chose this time to raise any sort of conversation with this terrible, wicked man.   
"I want to go back to school."  
Olaf raised his eyebrow over his wine glass. Violet was standing by his side serving him dinner and looked at Klaus open mouthed. Olaf's troupe looked similarly amazed, falling into a hushed silence.   
"If we miss too much school the authorities will come round." Klaus had hoped this would be a good selling point. "They'll end up checking up on us a lot. Seeing how things are going here." He swallowed. "And it wouldn't cost you anything. Sunny's nursery place would be free now that we're orphans. And the school would give us supplies."   
"What about your chores?" Olaf drummed his long fingers on the table. Klaus tried not to show his revulsion at the yellowing fingernails. "With you at school, who is going to care for my home?"  
"We can still do the chores after school." Klaus said meekly. "And on weekends and holidays. The house is getting there. It should be all cleaned by the summer."   
"Why do you want to go to school anyway?" Olaf sniggered. "It's a waste of time. If you want to learn anything you can learn it here."   
"I miss it."   
Saying those words really hit home just home much he missed it. He missed learning. He missed his teachers. He missed his friends. Since the fire, everything had changed and nothing remained of their old life. Returning to school would help that. He might even start to feel like his old self again.   
He hung his head, hoping Olaf wouldn't see the tears pricking in his eyes.   
It hadn't worked. Olaf laughed, a laugh so wicked it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Rising from his seat, the man staggered over to the young boy and leaned over him.   
"Don't go getting delusions of grandeur, orphan. You're my slaves now. You will do whatever chores I tell you. You will shut up when I tell you to shut up. You will punch yourself in the face if I tell you to punch yourself in the face. You are nothing but worthless scum. You are less than vermin. I could murder you in your sleep and the world would go on. You are nothing."  
"Leave him alone!" Violet's face was fierce, her hands curled into fists. "Leave them both alone."   
The tormenting grin broke into a cooing smile of mock affection.   
"Oh my wilting violet, how loud you are today." As Olaf made his way over to Violet, Klaus saw her jaw clench. "Look at you feeling all brave and bold. Don't you remember? You really should know this by now. I can do anything I like to any of you."  
"I'll tear you apart with my bear hands if you ever try to hurt them." Violet threatened. She was still far smaller than her husband, but the inner strength she held made it seem like she was towering over him. "I'll do anything to protect them from a twisted disgusting pervert like you. You think you're so much better than us, but I know your secret. You're just like us. Underneath all that villainy you're just a scared little orphan no one will ever love."  
Smack!  
The slap Violet received sent her flying across the room and falling down as if she were a ragdoll. Before Klaus even had time to register what had happened, Olaf was over his sister punching and kicking her while she screamed.   
"Violet!"   
It was no use. The wart faced man and the bald man with the long nose were pulling him away and hauling him out of the room. Sunny was in the arms of the hook handed man, frantically biting at him but to no effect. The pair were thrown into their room and the door locked. Downstairs they could still hear their sister's screams. And when they finally fell asleep from exhaustion, those screams continued into their nightmares.


	10. That's why she sleeps with one eye open

Violet raised her hand to her cheek and winced. Her husband had been wearing a ring when he slapped her and the jewel had cut along her cheekbone.   
Gingerly she lifted her top and looked at the bruises blossoming along her ribcage from Olaf's boot. Marks the colour of her name harsh against her pale skin. She didn't think anything was broken. Olaf was a monster, but he'd never injure her enough to need hospital treatment.   
Her siblings lay asleep, Sunny nestled against Klaus sucking her thumb. With a pang Violet wondered if her little sister would ever get a decent childhood. Perhaps she could find a way to get her adopted by another family. Once Olaf had the Baudelaire fortune he'd have no need for them. A baby like Sunny would get taken in by a new family instantly. It felt like a stab in the heart as she wondered if Sunny would remember her if she got adopted by strangers. For Klaus it would be harder. A boy of nearly fourteen stood less chance. More likely he'd be placed in an orphanage until he came of age. Then what? Penniless and without a family. She could only pray someone their parents knew would take him in.   
Violet knew Klaus couldn't understand why so much had changed between them and, as far as she was concerned, he would never know. She'd made a very fervid decision that her siblings would never find out what happened behind closed doors. They would never know that sometimes he would forget and call her Beatrice. 

Beatrice, alive we called you drop dead gorgeous. Then you dropped dead.

Many years ago I was advised to hang in there. This was very sound advice as, at that moment, I was clinging onto a rock on a waterfall in Peru. If I had done anything but hang in there I would have plunged to my doom.   
The expression doesn't always have to be quite so literal. A father may say "hang in there" as he claps his lovestruck son on the back. A friend may try to cheer another who is struggling with their workload by saying "hang in there." A judge may console some orphans desperate to escape the clutches of an evil man by offering "hang in there."   
"Hang in there, boss." The hook handed man said earnestly. "Before you know it we'll all be somewhere hot drinking margaritas."   
Olaf snorted. "That day can't come soon enough. The sooner I get my hands on the brats fortune, the better."   
Klaus kept his gaze fixed very firmly on the grime on the floor he was scrubbing. It had been a week since Olaf had attacked his sister in front of him and since then he'd wasted no opportunity to dish out insult after insult. No doubt the man was hoping he would react. But he'd made Violet a promise.   
"If you rise to it he'll hurt Sunny." She'd told him sternly. "And if he hurts Sunny because of you, I won't forgive you for it."   
It all felt hopelessly unfair. Yet Violet had a point. He'd never forgive himself if Olaf hurt Sunny either.   
His little sister was currently shining the hook handed mans shoes. The latter appeared to have taken a shine to her, going so far as to slip her the occasional carrot when Olaf wasn't looking. The shine hadn't quite extended itself to the older Baudelaire children. Klaus suspected he blamed them more for the lack of fortune in his bank.   
"Troupe I have an announcement!" Olaf leered down at them. "You listen too, orphans."   
The three children exchanged a worried glance.   
"The world needs to hear more of Al Funcoot." Olaf began, his eyes bright with excitement. "Therefore I have decided that we are going to go back to our roots. We are going to do what we were born to do. We are going to take a play on tour!"   
The joy from the troupe was instant. They cheered as if he'd announced they were all millionaires, whooping and hugging one another. One of the white faced women even had tears in her eyes.   
For the orphans they were more hesitant in their reaction. What would happen to them now? Was this just a ploy to get them away from the people who could protect them? Would they ever be safe?   
Olaf saw their guarded expressions and smirked. "Have no fear, orphans. You'll be remaining here. I can't be keeping an eye on you while starring in a successful production. My associates will take it in turns to guard you."  
"I can guard them." The bald man with the long nose volunteered. "You know you can trust me."  
"No I can't." Olaf returned bluntly. "I can't trust you with my beloved bride. We've had words about this before."   
The bald man's eyes went dark with fury but he remained silent. For the thousandth time, Klaus wondered how a group of people could be so loyal to a man so horrible to them. Then he remembered how afraid Violet was of the bald man and how Olaf's refusal for him to stand guard was probably a good thing.   
"How long will you be gone?" Violet was knelt by his feet and also had been shining shoes. Olaf seemed to like having her there as if she were some sort of pet.   
"Oh my sweet little wife." He crooned. "I know how much you'll miss me. It will be some weeks, but I'll be back before you know it." As he stroked her face, Violet flinched as his hand brushed against the cut on her cheek. To Klaus' disgust, Olaf kissed it.   
"My poor little one." He murmured. "If only you had been better behaved."  
"I'm sorry." Violet replied dully.  
When he kissed her, Klaus thought he was going to be sick.   
"Go to your room little orphans." It was the expression Olaf used for the younger Baudelaire's. "Your father is allowing you the evening off. You may go and play."   
It was pointless trying to ask for Violet to come with them. Back in the room Klaus scratched another day on the wall.   
"Blenham." Sunny said. It meant We'll run out of wall soon.   
"Hopefully he'll be gone a really long time." Klaus said. "Maybe even years. We could run away just before Violet turns eighteen."   
"Mortem." Hopefully he dies.  
Klaus smiled. "I never thought I'd wish death on anyone, but I agree. I don't think the world would be any poorer without him. It would be richer!"   
"Effugere?" Sunny asked, which meant could we run away?   
He hesitated. The thought was tempting. Running to Justice Strauss and asking to be taken in.   
Have you heard the expression a stickler for the rules? It is a marvellous one that refers to someone insisting things be done a certain way. An old volunteer I knew was a stickler for making sure tea was made the correct way. Tea leaves, hot water then milk. He said tea should be as bitter as wormwood and sharp as a two-edged sword. It's a shame my bearded companion was not a stickler for the rules.   
On the other hand, Justice Strauss was a stickler for the rules. Her job required sticking to the law as peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth. Klaus had no doubt that if they did run into her open arms, she would insist on going to court and dealing with it. Then Olaf would get wind of the case and possibly come back for them. He'd be furious if they interrupted his theatrical tour. Although his audience would probably be relieved.   
"Maybe." He said eventually. "I think we'll mention it to Justice Strauss. She might offer so there'd be no need to run away." 

The day Olaf left was chaos. Klaus had never seen so many costumes in his life. Olaf had insisted on packing anything that could possibly be needed and the cars were crammed full of various pieces of set, props and clothes. Being a spendthrift, Olaf had bought dozens of posters advertising their tour, all bearing his leering face.   
The henchperson of indeterminate gender was staring behind to care for them. Sunny wondered if this would be the time they'd start talking. If they even could talk. She'd never heard them even make a sound, not even when she used her fiercest bite.   
Violet stood with Olaf, her face pale and the shadows under her eyes dark. She looked like she'd not slept properly in weeks. Weight was falling from her and if she got any thinner she'd look as if she could break. Her grinning husband by her side seemed not to notice.   
"This will be the highlight of my theatrical career!" He was boasting. "I will win awards! I'll go down in history as the greatest actor who ever lived!"  
The Baudelaire's were quite used to Olaf bloviating by now and ignored him. The play seemed to be fairly typical for the troupe with Olaf playing an incredibly handsome man who goes on all sorts of terrific adventures and saves the day. Klaus wondered if it was dissatisfaction with his own life that made him become an actor.   
"Oh and the reviews," Olaf continued wistfully. "The reviews will praise my talent."  
"And handsomeness." The white faced women added. "Your audiences will faint with delight when they see you. The ladies will throw themselves at you."  
Olaf flashed some yellowing teeth in thanks.   
"And I'll bat them all away." He said smoothly. "Only one holds my heart."   
Violet didn't even blink.   
"Orphans! Come bid your father farewell."   
All three tensed as he placed his arms around them. To anyone observing they might think this was a kind fatherly gesture, but they didn't hear his whispers.   
"If you do anything that displeases me," his tone was threatening, "make no mistake I will be back and you will be punished most severely. Don't forget, I do only need one of you alive. The other two I can easily put in a room and have burned. Just like your parents. I could do that and not have a single thought of guilt. Do not test me." 

Dinner that night could only be described as hesitant. Thankfully due to the silence of the henchperson of indeterminate gender, there were no complaints about the food and they weren't ordered to bed as they usually were.   
As they climbed the stairs Klaus hesitated. "We've not been told to go to our room."  
Violet frowned. "What do you mean?"  
"Could we take a detour? I've seen books. It might be nice to read before bed."  
"Sine." Sunny said which meant I'm surprised there are any books, I didn't know Olaf couldn't read.   
Klaus laughed. "He doesn't seem the type to read, but there are books. I've not wanted to take them while he's been in the house."  
Violet was chewing her lip, her brow furrowed still. "I don't know, Klaus. What if we're caught?"   
"He's not explicitly told us not to." Klaus argued. "We're not breaking any rules. Besides, he's not here."  
There seemed to be no fight left in her, Violet shrugged and continued to take Sunny up the stairs while Klaus ducked into the room.   
It was the only room Olaf hadn't set chores for them in, yet Klaus had peeked in plenty of times. It was some sort of study covered in cobwebs. Maps adorned the walls and there were dozens of books stacked precariously. On the desk was an old cup and saucer with a few sugar cubes crumbling away.   
The room looked like it hadn't been disturbed in years and so Klaus didn't want to make it obvious he'd been prying. Carefully he picked up the first few books he saw by the doorway, and tiptoed out. 

To read again felt like a weight had been pulled from his shoulders. It was a very old book about Peru, something Klaus already knew a lot about, but he devoured the words like a boy starved. Eventually however, his eyes grew heavy and he settled for bed.   
He'd noticed that Violet did not sleep. From her corner she lay with her eyes open. Always watching just like the eyes around the house, as if she were waiting for something terrible to happen.   
"Hang in there." He whispered to her. "Hang in there, Violet."


	11. And that's the price she'll pay

Beatrice, you're in my heart and in your tomb

The day the hook handed man arrived was Klaus' birthday. It had been difficult to celebrate such a setting giving their surroundings anyway, but with such a grumpy new arrival it was harder still.   
"I shouldn't have been sent back." He was muttering furiously to the henchperson of indeterminate gender. "I was a firm favourite with the audience! This could have been my big break."   
The three Baudelaire's were trying to appear inconspicuous, a word here meaning not trying to attract attention, as they made Klaus' birthday cake. They were desperate to hear of any plans Count Olaf may have for them, but the hook handed man was too preoccupied discussing the show.   
"I don't even think you'll fit into my costume." He finished sulkily. He glanced up at the Baudelaire's. "What are you orphans making anyway?"  
"Cake!" Sunny shrieked. After bite it was her favourite word.   
"It's my birthday." Klaus volunteered hesitantly. "I'm fourteen today."   
What happened next was so shocking years later Klaus would lie awake at night and wonder how it came to be.   
"Happy Birthday, kid."  
The presents Klaus received that birthday weren't particularly wonderful, but it was the best birthday he could have hoped for. Sunny presented him with a wooden statue of an owl, carved with her own teeth, while Violet gave him a small machine that would clean his glasses with no smears that she had invented herself.   
"We're sorry it's not much." She chewed her lip nervously.   
"It's brilliant." Klaus smiled reassuringly and went to hug his sisters. He was used to it by now, but it still hurt when Violet flinched out of his way.

The court case had been delayed again so Olaf wrote to the hook handed man to say they were extending their tour. It meant that another person was coming to be their jailor.   
The Baudelaire's were strangely disappointed at the thought of the hook handed man leaving. While he wasn't the most pleasant fellow, he wasn't nearly as bad as Olaf and he would talk to them unlike the henchperson of indeterminate gender.   
Sunny had recently begun cruising. I wish I could tell you that cruising means going on lots of cruise ships and having all sorts of fun. If I were a fictional author I could make a great deal of money from the adventures of Sunny Baudelaire on cruise ships around the world. Alas, I am only a volunteer whose unfortunate duty it is to research and present the lives of these three children. Cruising in this instance means clinging onto the furniture and shuffling around on unsteady feet as you learn to walk. While Sunny had been a very early talker, she was a little late to the party walking which is understandable if your parents had recently been murdered in a terrible fire.   
As Sunny cruised around the sofa, Violet would hold onto her hands and offer encouragement as Sunny would pad along with her gurgling marvellously along the way. One morning after making breakfast, Violet and Klaus had been astounded to see their little sister gripping tight onto the hooks of the hook handed man as he led her around the living room with delight clear on both their faces.   
"I taught my little sister how to walk." He'd said. That was the only information he offered and they didn't feel it would be appropriate to pry. The three Baudelaire children wondered if the hook handed man was living a facade. You can think of facade like a mask, a face that you present to the world. The hook handed man had a villainous mask, but was there a decent man underneath? It would be years before the Baudelaire's would come to understand that there is good and wicked in everyone.   
Before long Sunny was staggering around the house and running into door frames shrieking with laughter while they all chased her.   
It was the happiest they'd felt in a long time.   
"The joy when you leave that wretched place will be ineffable." Justice Strauss said as she met Klaus by the hedge. "Ineffable means-"  
"Too great to be expressed in words." Klaus finished.   
Justice Strauss beamed at him. "I'm so proud of you. I'm sorry the case keeps being pushed back but we've had a string of rather nasty murders recently which is taking up a lot of time. Where are your sisters?"  
"Violet's getting Sunny ready for bed."  
She pursed her lips. "Klaus, I've not seen Violet since that sham of a wedding. Is everything alright?" Her face suddenly became a picture of worry. "Is she angry with me? Is that why she's been avoiding me?"  
She's been avoiding you because she has a scar on her face and dark bags under her eyes, Klaus wanted to say. But he'd promised Violet he'd never tell a soul of how terrible she was looking these days.   
"Honestly Justice Strauss." He gave her his most charming smile as he lied. "She's fine. She's just keeping herself busy." 

The hook handed man got his wish and returned to the troupe. In a strange way the children missed him, of an evening they'd been playing chess together. His replacement was the wart faced man and the only interest he seemed to have was getting inordinately drunk.   
The wart faced man had been there for several weeks when it was Violet's birthday. Klaus and Sunny had presented her with a box full of mechanical gears and other scraps they had been collecting during their chores. Hopefully Olaf wouldn't miss anything.   
"Hopefully Olaf won't miss anything." Violet said, but she didn't look worried.   
"Ludus!" Sunny cried. Invent something that will prank him!  
Violet didn't respond and instead reached out for one of the gears. As she did the sleeve of her cardigan rose up and Klaus saw a mark on her wrist.   
"What's that?"  
Violet froze. "Nothing."   
Months of built up frustration took over and Klaus grabbed her arm. Since turning fourteen Klaus had shot up and was now taller than his sister, stronger too. Roughly he pulled up her sleeve and balked.   
Reader, I understand now if you want to look away. I implore you to. The Baudelaire's have experienced too much hardship and terror and there is no reason you have to as well...  
Ah you're still reading. Perhaps you wrongly think you are brave enough to handle things. Or perhaps you are reading out of duty, in the same way I trying to piece together the story of the Baudelaire children so I can bring them to a safe home in honour of the woman I love.   
Bite marks. Cigarette burns. Scratches. Grips so tight he could see bruises of fingerprints.   
There were tears in everyone's eyes. Sunny because she was afraid. Klaus because he felt he should have been looking after her. Violet because seeing them just reminded her of it all.   
"We're going to Justice Strauss." Klaus said fiercely. "Like we should have done a long time ago."  
"Hold your horses."   
The expression comes from the old western days of cowboys and cowgirls. Often the younger less experienced cowboys would want to go out on rides while the older ones would warn them to keep ahold of their horses until they could be sure danger was clear.   
A long time ago my own brother said that expression to me. We were riding through the hinterlands and I was desperate to ride on to see the woman I loved who was masquerading as a fortune teller in a carnival. Initially I thought he was giving me romantic advice by telling me to be patient, but it turned out he'd spotted a pride of starving lions and it was in our best interests to hold our horses and stay as still as possible so as not to attract attention.   
Why Violet was telling Klaus to be patient he couldn't understand. They were all in terrible danger and had been for some time. Things were not improving by staying silent. With a tight grip around her wrist, Klaus dragged a protesting Violet to the gap in the hedge.   
"Justice Strauss! Justice Strauss!"  
"Please, Klaus." Violet was trying to wriggle free. "The wart faced man will hear you."   
The wart faced man was usually passed out drunk this time of day so her warnings didn't inspire any concern in him.   
"Justice Strauss!"  
"I'm here Baudelaire's." Her face was pinched with worry as she peered through the gap. "Whatever is the matter?"  
None too gently, Klaus pulled at the cardigan and showed the judge the marks on his sisters skin. "It's been going on for months." He said bluntly. "I swore I wouldn't tell but it's just getting worse. Please, Justice Strauss. You have to get us out of here. Tell her, Violet. Just tell her!"   
Justice Strauss wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Violet, her face soft with concern.   
"Violet?" She whispered. "Talk to me, sweetheart."   
I'm told that as Violet began to cry, Klaus released her arm and stepped back in shock. The great big shuddering sobs racked her small frame and tears fell as freely as a waterfall. He instantly regretted not being kinder.   
"We'll get you out of here soon." The older woman was soothing the young girl. "Klaus, will you and Sunny give us a minute to talk?"  
Klaus nodded dumbly. Sunny slipped her hand in his and together they walked back to the house. 

By the time Violet came back into the house the tears were dry on her cheeks and she even stood a little taller.   
"Justice Struass took my testimony and is going to the court right now." She gave Sunny a cuddle. "She took photos as well and will show them. When they see they'll have no choice but to push forward the case to remove us from here. By the time Olaf gets back, we'll be long gone."  
"Vicinus" Sunny pointed out. If by long gone you mean next door.   
"She has a place in the country she shares with her sister we'll all go to." Violet reassured her. "Justice Strauss is going to take some time off work to look after us all."   
Klaus swallowed. "I'm sorry for pushing you, Violet. I should have encouraged you to speak up, not forced you."   
She gave him a small smile. "Apology accepted. At least some good came of it."  
Let the story of the Baudelaire children end here for you. Let you imagine that they packed their bags and within the hour Justice Strauss arrived to take them to a pretty cottage in the country with things to invent, books to read and hard things to bite. Perhaps you can picture them as they grow up happy together, riding bikes and having picnics and all sorts of other marvellous things. In time you could suppose that Sunny would forget this series of unfortunate events, too young to remember anything before her third birthday.   
However I must continue. I must find them. They are not safe at the moment and I will not rest until they are. As their godfather, I must do anything I can to bring them to safety.   
The three Baudelaire children went to bed that night with joy in their eyes and cake in their bellies. They were certain that when they would wake in the morning, Justice Strauss would be waiting for them.   
How very wrong they were.   
Instead Klaus woke to a blood curdling scream. Bolting upright he could make out two figures struggling, when he put his glasses on he saw a figure he'd not expected to see for a long time.   
Count Olaf was hauling Violet to her feet while she kicked and scratched at him. He couldn't be sure who looked more murderous.   
"You thought you could get me into trouble, eh?" Olaf was snarling in her face. "You really thought your little testimony would do you any favours? I told you to be on your best behaviour, my girl. Instead you disobeyed me. Time to pay the price."   
Crack!  
As Klaus' fist made impact with Olaf's jaw it took him by surprise and he staggered back. Truth be told, it surprised Klaus too. The last time he'd seen him the Count had towered above him and left him feeling as strong as a feather. Now, however, Klaus was just below his nose and the punch had been fierce. He was no longer a boy.   
Violet threw herself between the pair and shoved Olaf with all her might.   
"We're leaving." She hissed. "Right now. We're going to Justice Strauss and she is going to take us far away from you. You'll never see our fortune. You'll never see us again."   
The shock from the punch had worn off and Olaf tutted as if she were a particularly petulant schoolgirl. "Oh sweet Violet." He purred. "I think you'll find you're not going anywhere. The high court rang me as soon as they got your testimony. They found it most peculiar. I was able to get there to give my side of the story and they believed me." He leered exposing his yellow teeth. "They quite happy for us to stay together."   
As he reached out to grab Violet, Klaus shoved her out of the way preparing to punch his guardian once more.   
Instead it was Olaf who threw the first punch. It hurt like hell and his glasses were knocked to the floor. Hearing a smash of glass he panicked.   
Some have taken to wearing glasses as fashion accessories. However, Klaus was not one of these individuals. The expression blind as a bat applies rather well to Klaus without his glasses, only able to see shapes. As he lay on the floor he reached out for them but Olaf got there first and stomped them into even more of a mangled mess.   
"You're not staying with your bratty siblings any more, wife." Klaus heard Olaf growl. "They're a bad influence on you. You'll be staying with me. That's the price you'll pay"  
"I'm not leaving them."  
Crack!   
As Olaf's boot rammed into Klaus' ribcage he screamed. A sudden sharp pain stabbed through him and he found it hard to breathe. The second kick went in his gut. Before long he stopped counting, kicks after kicks. He saw a smaller shape heading towards him.   
"Sunny stay back!" His voice was hoarse.   
He could hear Violet was slapping Olaf, screaming at him to stop and cursing him. When Olaf kicked him in the head there was a ringing in his ears. A kick to the chest made him cough up blood.   
"Stop!" Violet had stopped slapping Olaf. "Just stop, I'll go with you. I'll stay with you. Please, you're killing him!"   
Olaf stopped long enough to turn to the girl. "I don't need him alive. I only need one of you. I don't need two extra mouths to feed."   
Klaus could just about make out Violet lift Sunny and a glint of silver from something they'd foraged for her birthday.   
"If you kill him," her voice was surprisingly steady. "I'll kill Sunny and then myself."  
It was like a tidal wave had rushed over him. His sister couldn't mean that surely? He couldn't make out the expressions on their faces.   
"You'll never get your hands on the fortune then." Violet continued. "Our marriage hasn't been proved legal. There are no Baudelaire's left."  
Olaf snorted derisively. "You wouldn't do it. You care for your sister too much."   
"I wouldn't leave her in a world where you could find her. She'd be better off dead than in a world with no one to protect her. Then our family could all be together."  
The pounding in his head was almost deafening and his eyes were growing heavier by the second. He had to stay awake. Had grief driven her mad? Violet wasn't thinking straight threatening Sunny.   
He could hear his baby sister mewling in distress as she tried to wriggle from Violet's arms. He wanted to call out something to reassure her, but whenever he opened his mouth the cold air would freeze at his lungs and he'd cough up blood. The silence as Olaf considered the threats felt like years.   
"I won't kill your brother today." He said finally. "But make no mistake, if you don't put down that brat right now and come with me, I will make him wish he were dead."   
"Give me a minute." Violet's voice was wavering. "I'll see you in there. Please, just give me a minute first."   
To Klaus' surprise the tall shadowy figure of Olaf turned and left.   
"I'm so sorry, Sunny." Violet was clinging to her as if she'd never let go. "I am so, so sorry. I would never hurt you, please believe me."   
The world went dark.


	12. I said hey, girl with one eye

Beatrice  
Alive you were pretty. Now you are pretty dead.

Dinner that night was a sombre affair. During the day the bald man with the long nose and the two white faced women had taken Klaus to a hospital obsessed with paperwork to be treated. It was confirmed he had broken ribs and concussion and Klaus marvelled how lucky he was.   
However whenever the doctors asked him what had happened the two white faced women would pinch him.   
"Car accident."  
Saying those two words felt like a betrayal. Words that Klaus would continue to regret even after years of reassurances. If he'd spoken up perhaps they would have been rescued. The doctors would have thrown out the evil associates and brought his sisters to him and they would live happily ever after.   
Or they wouldn't believe him and their lives would get much worse upon his return home.   
It is my duty to follow the lives of the three Baudelaire children, in the hopes that I can find them and keep them safe. I can hardly call the older two children anymore, but they are vulnerable and need my help. If you are reading my studies waiting for a happy ending, I am afraid you will not find one. I encourage you instead to dry your eyes and read the Pony Party. It follows the adventures of three plucky children just like the Baudelaire's, but with far more luck.   
Now back to dinner.   
It had been a few months since the Baudelaire had moved into their new home and their constant cleaning was finally beginning to pay off. The layers of grime from years of neglect had been scrubbed away, cobwebs dusted and windows wiped. Yet the house still held a darkness they couldn't quite understand as if the light were somehow blocked from getting in.   
For some reason, the troupe were not dining with them that evening so it was just the Baudelaire's and their odious guardian. Count Olaf sat at the head as he always did, feet up resting on the table with a glass of wine as was his custom. Yet tonight he had quite a different look about him. A sombre reflectiveness shadowed with a curdling bitterness that clutched at his insides and twisted. While the haggardness of his face made them believe he was older than their parents, the brightness of his eyes indicated a younger man. Those eyes always held a fire. Sometimes it would be a terrible blaze like the one that destroyed their home. Other times it was like a candle, deceptively soft and inviting and should never be left alone. On this occasion it was dying embers with smoke clouding in the way. As Olaf sipped his wine they could see the small smirk on his face was not quite sincere.   
Although it was dinner, no one was eating. No one seemed to be hungry. Sunny had been left to her own devices and was squishing her vegetables into mush.   
The broken ribs had left Klaus feeling uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to show it. The painkillers he had been given by the doctors had been taken from him by the white faced women and he has thinking of how to get them back before a fitful nights sleep in bed.   
Violet had a fresh bruise blossoming on her cheek. She sat at Olaf's side, further away from her siblings, her hair hanging over her face as she hung her head.   
Olaf was watching her curiously. Finally he traced a long finger around her cheek and used it to lift her chin.   
"Such a pretty face." He said softly. "It's a shame you're so pervicacious."  
Violet hesitated. "I don't know what that means."  
Olaf's shiny eyes found Klaus'. "Bookworm, you like learning. Tell your sister what pervicacious means."   
"Stubborn." Klaus replied in annoyance. "My sister is not stubborn."   
Olaf tutted as he moved his hand from Violet. "Let's look at your bad qualities then. You're supercilious. Know what that means?"   
To be supercilious is to behave as though one thinks they are superior to others. It is a word Klaus would use to describe Olaf, but never himself.   
"I don't think I'm superior to others." Klaus frowned.   
Olaf laughed. A short bark that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh how offended people get when their bad qualities are discussed."   
"These are just words you've assigned to us." Despite his injuries, Klaus couldn't help himself. "They're what you think, not what other people think."   
A devilish grin spread on their guardians face. "Oh no, orphans. It's not what I think. It's what your parents told me."  
The three Baudelaire's froze. As far as Klaus and Sunny were aware, Olaf had only mentioned their parents in death. Klaus had believed that they couldn't have even known each other.   
"It was a night just like this some years ago." Olaf continued, gazing off into the distance as if he were picturing it. "A very fancy dinner. Even the Duchess of Winnipeg had decided to make an appearance. We were dressed in our finest clothes and the wine flowed all night. After the food we all went to the parlour and the conversation turned to families and the oddities of children." He glanced back at them. "How your parents laughed as they told me how pervicacious you were, Violet. Never quite able to do as you were told, always finding a way to bend the rules. They told me how fiery you could be if you didn't get your way. And then little Klaus not playing with the other boys because he believed himself better than them, always hanging around the adults who would have to watch the codes they were speaking in."  
It is understandable that Klaus and Violet were left feeling   
"Ette?" Sunny piped up. And me?   
Olaf waved a hand dismissively. "I'm guessing you want to know your terrible qualities. It was a long time before you were born. But I can tell you that your inability to talk and your sharp teeth are part of a very long list."  
My research indicated that Sunny then said something very rude that I won't translate.   
"Sunny's just a baby." Violet spoke up. "She's still learning. And she'll grow into her teeth eventually."  
"She'll grow out of the things you don't like." Klaus carried on. "When will you grow out of your bad qualities?" He nodded to the wine glass in his guardian's hand. "I don't believe my parents would ever have associated themselves with an alcoholic villain like you."   
"Klaus!" Violet whispered.   
Olaf only laughed and took another swig. "I prefer the expression oenophile. You want to go to school, bookworm? Let's have a schooling now. We've learned some big words already. Let's have a lesson about your parents. Your mother could whistle Mozart's Fourteenth Symphony with crackers in her mouth. She was allergic to peppermints just like all of you. She kept a small pocket dictionary in her coat and you, Klaus, loved nothing more than to ask her the meaning of all sorts of big words. Now for your father. He nurtured your inventing talents, Violet. He was left an orphan after a terrible father, just like you three. He could play the piano with his hands tied behind his back. You see, orphans, I did know your parents." His eyes narrowed and grew shinier. "They destroyed me and I vowed my revenge. Have you heard the expression killing two birds with one stone?"   
"It sounds like a terrible thing to do." Violet said.   
Olaf shrugged. "Depends how nice the birds are."  
The expression to kill two birds with one stone is exactly what it sounds like and was the pastime of a particularly vile child I happened to go to school with. In a figurative sense rather than literal, it means accomplishing two tasks only putting in the effort for one. For example I had to go to Peru in search of a lost item and also used the opportunity to catch up with an old snake obsessed friend. Another woman I knew combined her love of money with wickedness as she charged people for eye exams and hypnotised them instead.  
"For example," Olaf continued. "I wanted a fortune and a beautiful bride." The smile he gave was lecherous as he took Violet's hand. "She wasn't the bride I expected, but I'm happy enough. It just took some tricking of that ridiculous banker and you three landed in my lap."  
"The case is still ongoing." Klaus muttered.   
"Careful." Olaf wagged a finger at him. "Let's have another lesson. Do you know what defenestration means?"  
Klaus had to admit he did not.   
"Defenestration is the act of throwing someone out of a window." With his amber eyes, Olaf gave the look of a lion circling his prey. Teasing it as cats are wont to do. Years ago Klaus had received a book on lions from his mother and one of the chapters included information on what to do if you came across one. The first rule was to fight every survival urge to run away. Running away would only create a game of chase and make you look like the prey. In the book my brother had written "If you run, you'll only die tired."   
The second thing is to keep your stare with the beast trying to look as big as possible. That is exactly what Klaus was focusing on doing. Forcing himself to stare at those cruel eyes.   
As someone who had trained real lions, I'm sure that his mother would have been very proud of him.   
"I want you three to remember that I'm the one in charge here." Olaf continued. "As soon as the High Court rules in my favour I can do whatever I like with you three. I can strangle you with my bare hands and dump your bodies in the hinterlands. I can inject you with poison so everyone would think you died from a tragic illness. I can smother you will a pillow while you sleep. I can chain you to this house while I set it in on fire and fake my death at the same time, two birds one stone. I can throw you out the window. You may not die from it," the grin spread further on his face. "But it would be fun. I'm surprised you didn't know the meaning of the word, bookworm."  
"I don't know the meaning of words associated with such villainy." Klaus said fiercely.   
Olaf snorted. "Oh yes, I forget how superior you are to me. But were you really so superior to your own father?"  
Klaus curled his fists. "My father was an honourable man, he would never throw someone out of a window!"  
"Oh but he would." Olaf was enjoying savouring the words, like a greedy child might savour a toffee. "Who do you think taught me the word? Watching people fall to their demise was your father's favourite pastime. You really didn't know him at all. Lesson finished."


	13. Get your filthy fingers out of my pie

Beatrice, I close my eyes and see you fighting with you demilance. I open my eyes and am met with only silence

The silence felt thick enough to cut with a knife. As Klaus lifted Sunny and began their descent down the stairs, each step felt like a shuddering thud. The creaks on the stairs seeming to scream. Yet what the younger Baudelaire's found the most unnerving was seeing all the eyes watching them. Eyes scratched on the floorboards. Eyes carved into doors. Eyes painted on the walls. Eyes on the ripped wallpaper. Even eyes looking down at them from the beams of the ceiling. So many eyes watching as if they might scream out.  
"You will be caught."   
I can understand how the Baudelaire's felt. It took me a long time to get used to the ever present symbol of our organisation and sometimes when I am still hazy from sleep, it unnerves me again just as it did when I was a child.   
I can also understand how it felt to be creeping out of the home of their guardian, fearing the consequences of their actions. I myself have done it countless times over the years, and the first time is always the most terrifying.   
Klaus was carrying his shoes, so worried he was of waking anyone with the sound of his footsteps. Outside the birds were still at slumber, it would be a while before they even began their singing warm ups. Upstairs the associates snored drunkenly. They would not be up until mid afternoon.   
The thought had occurred to Klaus the previous night that in the mornings it was very often just him and Sunny doing their chores. Why not take advantage of this time and see what they could do with it?   
Justice Strauss had not met them at the hedge for several days now. Klaus could only hope she was too busy with their case, but the lack of information left him unnerved. He poked a note through the gap but so far it had not been picked up.   
It would be me on my research who retrieved the note and tried to hold back the tears at the earnestness of the boys words. 

I wonder if you can think of any sounds that signal the saving of a day. For example, if you were having a particularly bad day, the merry sound of an ice-cream van would let you know that ice-cream was on its way and all would be well soon. Another example might be the sound of a fire engine as it hurtles towards the burning building in which you are trapped.   
A sound that does not sound like it will save the day is the sound of a cough.   
A lot of coughs.   
I daresay you have already predicted that this sound does not herald the promise of a day rescued.   
Klaus and Sunny waited patiently for Mr Poe to finish spluttering in his handkerchief in his office at Mulctuary Money Management. Neither of them had ever seen a building quite so dismal and grey. Even the interior was grey. Steel silver walls encased them as if they were their own fortune locked away never to see the sun. In their parents offices all sorts of things had been up on the walls. In this office it was completely blank save for a broken clock on the wall, stuck ticking forwards and back on repeat. The dismal emptiness of it all didn't exactly scream welcome. Even the steel desks with their harsh edges looked uninviting. It was no surprise that when they sat down the chairs were extremely uncomfortable.   
"Now children." Mr Poe smiled warmly at them. "I'm afraid I'm very busy, but I can spare five minutes for you. How can I be of assistance?"   
"Well," Klaus began.   
Mr Poe held up a finger as he began hacking up into his handkerchief once more.   
"Medicum." said Sunny which meant Go to a doctor you fool.   
"We're very concerned." Klaus continued hurriedly before Mr Poe could resume coughing again. "Very concerned. We showed Justice Strauss the marks on Violet and she went to the High Court but they told Olaf we had complained about him and he defended himself so they believed him and now he's got even worse."  
"Klaus," Mr Poe frowned. "That is a very long sentence. I bet anyone writing it down wouldn't even use any punctuation."  
I dislike Mr Poe intensely.   
"That's not the point of my story." Klaus said exasperated. "The point is Olaf is beating us. And he's told Violet to move into his-"  
He was cut off by more coughing by Mr Poe.   
"Furcifer." Sunny said suspiciously which meant Sometimes I think you're secretly a villain.   
"Klaus." Mr Poe tucked his handkerchief away and gave them a gentle, albeit patronising, smile. "You have come to me before about Count Olaf not being the guardian to your satisfaction. I believe your parents may have spoiled you. It is no doubt difficult for a jobbing actor to take you into his care with hardly any money to his name. No wonder you share a room and help with the chores. Many other children have similar situations. My boys share a room!"   
"He married my sister!" Klaus cried. "He announced to a room full of people he married my sister to get his hands on our fortune. Why can't you see he's an evil man?"  
The gentle smile went as Mr Poe wagged his finger at them. "Baudelaire's, have you heard the expression see eye to eye?"  
Years ago I knew a Volunteer A who couldn't meet the eyes of Volunteer B because they had the same eyes as their mother, who Volunteer A was once in love with. The Volunteer B couldn't return their gaze either as Volunteer A held the same eyes as their father who had killed the mother of Volunteer B. So it came to be that they couldn't see eye to eye. And that resulted in a very unfortunate schism. That schism has resulted in more deaths than I can care to count. I can only tell you how important it is to try and see eye to eye.   
"It means you don't always agree with them." Klaus said automatically. "But-"  
"Exactly. There are many people who don't see eye to eye but still succeed in living together. You don't see eye to eye with Count Olaf, but there's no reason why you can't be amicable. I'm sure Violet would really appreciate you trying to make an effort with her husband."  
I'm afraid to say that Sunny Baudelaire had picked up some rather unfortunate language from spending too much time in the company of wicked people. In response to Mr Poe she said something incredibly rude that I will not translate completely and instead use a rhyme.  
"Amentis." Ducking imbecile.   
The anger gripped Klaus until he was shaking. He'd always been brought up to respect his elders and know that they had his best interests at heart. Where were those adults he'd been promised? Were adults really as clueless as this? He'd grown up believing that with age came wisdom and everyone would be incredibly sensible. That illusion was continuing to shatter every day.   
Now Reader, if you are an adult I am sure you are roaring with laughter at the thought of adults knowing what they are doing. You yourself are perhaps an adult who has no clue what is going on with their life and is still waiting for someone to come along and tell you. It is a very hard lesson for children to learn that grown ups aren't really any wiser than they are.   
"Violet's underage." He gritted his teeth to stop himself from shouting. "It's not legal."   
"She had her guardian's permission."  
"Which was Count Olaf!"  
Mr Poe was beginning to shuffle his papers. There didn't seem to be any real reason for it, more of a way to get Klaus and Sunny to feel obliged to leave.   
They felt no such obligation.   
Klaus had to think. The Baudelaire parents had often said that Klaus led with his head. Logic, facts and reason was the code he lived by. On the other hand, Sunny led with her heart. Both had wonderful attributes, yet both had difficulties. Sunny wore her heart on her sleeve while Klaus could struggle to connect with people emotionally and became frustrated if people didn't see things his way.   
The Baudelaire parents said that Violet was perfectly in between, letting neither rule over her and instead working together. She was a mastermind at manipulating situations to her advantage, deftly reading a situation and reacting appropriately. Klaus had seen it in the way she spoke to Olaf sometimes. She would logically work out a plan and then use her emotions to guide her there. He would have to take a leaf out of her book and change tactics.   
"Mr Poe," he began carefully. "We're such helpless children you see and it's very frightening when Olaf hits us. But you're so powerful and brave. Even though you're so busy, I know that you would still find the time to check in on us with your colleagues and see the bruises for yourselves. Then you could rescue us and," he swallowed scarcely able to believe he was going to say such cheese, "you'd be our hero."   
Brown nose.  
While Sunny hadn't been impressed, it had worked on Mr Poe. His chest swelled with pride as he puffed himself up to full height. The tears in his eyes made it seem like he'd won some sort of prize. For a moment Klaus felt bad that the flattery was all false.   
For a moment.   
"I'll come and visit of course." Mr Poe beamed at the pair. "And I'll bring my banker friends too! If you really are concerned about Violet's little bruise then I'm sure I can spare the time to come and take a look."  
It felt like a slight relief to Klaus. He could only hope these banker friends were more savvy than Mr Poe himself.   
"But I must say," Mr Poe continued. "You children could do with showing a bit more panglossian. Panglossian means."  
"We know what it means. It's to show extreme optimism, especially in incredibly unfortunate circumstances."   
Mr Poe coughed into his handkerchief. "Precisely! And you Baudelaire's ought to try it. Your parents may be dead and your lives upside down, but looking on the bright side now and then can't hurt. While Count Olaf may have an unpleasant smell, I'm sure he has many admirable qualities. Oh, speak of the devil."   
Speak of the devil and he shall appear goes the old saying. It comes from a superstitious time where it was dangerous to say such a name and was strongly prohibited. As the world began to lose its superstitions however, it has become a light hearted expression often spoken with a touch of fondness. It allows the person new to the scene to know that they were being talked about, their is much laughter and the day continues in all good cheer.   
Certainly the latter was true for Mr Poe, but it was the former that Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire felt.   
Typically the devil is portrayed with horns, goat legs, a tail and a pitchfork. For the Baudelaire's the devil had one eyebrow, eyes that grew shiny the angrier he got and a mysterious tattoo of an eye on his left ankle.   
"Hello, hello, hello."   
"You're here early for your meeting." Mr Poe was oblivious to Klaus and Sunny sinking further into their chairs. "I'm afraid I won't be able to squeeze you in any earlier than scheduled."   
"I'm only here to pick up the orphans." Olaf said smoothly, his hand resting on Klaus' shoulder. "I was quite concerned to find them missing from their beds this morning. I've had people searching for hours."   
"Baudelaire's!" Mr Poe admonished as he peered over his glasses. "I'm really very disappointed in you. Did you run away to come find me here?"  
As Klaus opened his mouth to protest, Olaf tightened his grip on his shoulder.   
"We're sorry." He said weakly. "We're still children. We don't always behave as we should."   
"Goo goo gah." Chimed in Sunny.   
"Oh give yourself more credit, Klaus." Olaf's voice was thick like honey, a substance Klaus had always found too disgustingly sticky. "You're almost a man now. Quite old enough to know that actions have consequences."   
The younger Baudelaire's exchanged a worried glance. Was Violet safe? Would they be?  
"I'll be taking the orphan's home and finding a suitable punishment." Olaf straightened up. "I'm sorry they bothered you at work, Mr Poe."   
The banker looked conflicted as he looked between the orphans and their guardian, rising from his chair he leaned towards them. "It was not trouble really. There's no harm done. Klaus and Sunny are wonderful children and I'm sure they're very ashamed of running away. There's no need for any punishment."   
Olaf's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm sure you'll remember that these are my children, not yours."   
"Of course." Mr Poe said feebly, sinking down into his seat. "You know best."   
"Nebbish." Sunny said in disgust. There's no need for translation here. Nebbish is also the name for a weak and feeble man. Thankfully Mr Poe did not know this.   
"Come along orphans."  
When Klaus rose from his chair he was surprised to see Olaf lift Sunny into his arms. Normally when Olaf had picked up Sunny he'd done so with the intention of dropping her and hadn't been careful, but the way he held her now was like a responsible adult.   
He presumed the show was for Mr Poe.   
Despite being frogmarched to the door, Klaus managed to stop in the doorway and turn back to the miserable banker.   
"Mr Poe, you will still visit us soon?"   
It was a plot to by them some time from whatever punishment Olaf had in mine and the wicked man knew it too. His eyes flashed dangerously but said nothing.   
"Of course, Klaus." Mr Poe gave him a wave. "I'll see you very soon. I'll visit more often to help you adjust into your new home. If I can't come then I'm sure my secretary will." 

The silence as they walked back to the car was just as heavy as the silence from that morning. Olaf strapped Sunny in, but when Klaus went to sit beside her, Olaf clicked his fingers at the passenger seat.   
"I'm both pleased and disappointed with you, orphan." Olaf said as they drove away.   
It wasn't a sentence that filled Klaus with much joy. "Why?"   
Olaf gave a small chuckle. "I'm pleased you were sneaky enough to get away quite undetected. I'm disappointed you chose an idiot like Poe to help you."   
Klaus scowled. "How did you know we were here? You're usually still asleep."   
"There are eyes everywhere." Olaf said softly.   
"The ones in your house."  
"Those aren't eyes."  
Klaus couldn't be bothered with Olaf's lies. "Where then?"   
"I have neighbours who watch for you. There are shopkeepers that know to call me. I even have people in the bank loyal to me. Wherever you go I will follow. My little spies are everywhere."   
The thought of people spying on him while he was completely oblivious made Klaus feel uncomfortable. He didn't even want to think about it.   
"Where's Violet?"   
"The question you really want to ask is how's Violet." Olaf corrected. "I expect your pride won't let you. The fact you got caught makes you worry for your sister's safety and the guilt is too much. I can assure you that your sister is quite fine. There will be no punishment today."   
Klaus studied Count Olaf carefully.   
He had the same gaunt greying face. There was still stubble on his cheeks. One eyebrow headlined his startling amber eyes and if you got close enough, you could definitely smell alcohol on his breath. It was Count Olaf. But why was he acting differently?   
"I never forbade you from seeking the help of someone entirely useless." Olaf shrugged as he answered Klaus' unspoken question. "Although I must congratulate you on trying to buy some time for yourselves just then. When Mr Poe visits I'll be sure to give him a wonderful tour of my home and you'll all be there smiling obediently."   
"You won't be able to hit us any more." Klaus said carefully. "If Mr Poe sees bruises he'll intervene. He may be useless but even he can see injuries."   
"Oh have no fear." Olaf glanced in his wing mirror and quickly swerved right. "I won't be bruising my wife's face any more. I've decided she's far too pretty, don't want to ruin it." He glanced slyly at Klaus. "Such a pretty girl. And her crying no longer excites me like it used to. It's starting to get a bit boring."   
Klaus stared stonily ahead. He counted three red cars and two blue ones. What else could he see.   
"I'll keep the tears for special occasions. It's so endearing to see those tears cling to her lashes as she peeps up at you."   
Four red cars and three blue and one green.   
"And how her bottom lip quivers as you go towards her. How she struggles against you. Just like the hunt."  
Was it three blue cars or four? It was difficult to keep count as they headed home. Olaf was constantly swerving and taking different directions. Almost as if he were being followed. 

When they arrived home Olaf sent the pair straight to their room, insisting they catch up on the sleep they no doubt missed out on. They were so tired and mentally exhausted they agreed without question and headed upstairs.   
Their room was clean from grime now, but it was still very sparse. Klaus imagined the things they could put in it, a bookcase would be a wonderful place to start. A light. Some comfy armchairs. A toybox for Sunny. An inventing desk for Violet. A desk for him to do his research. With a stab of horror he realised he was acting as if he were getting ready to settle here.   
A soft knock in the doorway alerted him to Violet's presence. Klaus had worried she would be angry at him for putting Sunny in harms way, but his older sister's face held only a gentle concern.   
"Are you okay?" She sat beside them on the bed, pulling Sunny onto her lap. "I heard you went to see Mr Poe."   
Klaus nodded glumly. "It did as much good as you can guess. But Olaf says there's no punishment. He even said he was pleased with us for managing to escape."   
Sunny was cuddling Violet so fiercely it was like she would never let go. Klaus had to stop himself from doing the same.   
"He said the same to me." Violet stroked Sunny's hair. "He said he would have to teach you to be less noble so you could become part of his team. I didn't say I thought that would be highly unlikely."   
It was good to see her smiling, even if it was only a tiny one.   
"Mr Poe is coming to check up on us more." Even though Olaf knew, Klaus still lowered his voice. "He said he'll bring people too. Maybe one of them will get us out of here."   
Violet looked at him sadly. "Klaus, the only people who are going to get us out of here are us. And for the time being I'm out of ideas."   
"Violet."  
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Speak of escape and he shall appear.   
When she left with him, Klaus was left with silence. Consuming silence. A silence that was so strong it felt deafening.


	14. I'll cut your little heart out

Beatrice, My love, my life. Then you became his wife.

BAUDELAIRE FORTUNE STILL RESTING IN BANK

The newspaper was flung in front of Klaus as he was scrubbing mould from the bathroom tiles with a toothbrush. While Olaf paced angrily by the bath, Klaus began to read. 

The marvellous actor Count Olaf has once again been rejected in his application for receiving the Baudelaire fortune. You will remember that some months ago the celebrity wedding of Count Olaf and Violet Baudelaire, (a special edition of the article with colour photos will be available to purchase soon!) yet it is currently under legal debate as to whether the Count can receive his share of the fortune now, or if he'll have to wait for his young bride to come of age.   
Then of course is the issue of the two younger Baudelaire children and whether or not it should be equally divided. It is argued that Klyde and Susie should have money set aside for them for when they come of age, also under the counts care.   
A voluntary female delegate spoke to the Daily Punctilio and has stated she will fight Count Olaf getting his hands on any money left behind by the Baudelaire's and has said she is not alone in this fight. However, she refused to give any more information and dashed off in yellow taxi.   
Mr Poe of Mulctuary Money Management, who has recently been appointed Vice President in Charge of Orphan Affairs, has said the money will be tucked away safely until the court case scheduled for the end of winter. No doubt this will be frustrating to the newlyweds keen to go on their honeymoon, as this case has already been postponed multiple times. However, due to the sudden rise in interest from people calling themselves volunteers, it is not going to be quite as simple as it once was.   
Please turn to page 5 for an exclusive interview with a wedding guest and what she really thought of the cake!

"You must be really annoyed with Klyde and Susie." Klaus said wryly as he set down the newspaper.   
"No time to joke, orphan." Olaf had moved on to inspecting the tiles on the walls, his lip curling in disdain. "That banker has put me in a very foul disposition and I wouldn't advise anything that might increase that."   
Reading The Daily Punctillio often puts me in a very foul disposition. Not only does it present lies as truth, it is also sensationalist and terribly written. Not to mention in my obituary they claimed I was a criminal who never took their rubbish out of a cinema screen.   
I always take my rubbish out of a cinema screen.   
However, it was not the diabolical writing of The Daily Punctillio that had put Count Olaf in an awful mood, but his meeting with Mr Poe.   
"Who does he think he is?" Olaf was snarling as he wiped a finger along the surface of the windowsill to check it had been cleaned. "Who does he think he is?"   
While one of Klaus' biggest joys in life was answering questions, he did at least have the common sense to recognise when a question was rhetorical and stay silent.   
"Once upon a time my family were the wealthiest for miles around." Olaf mused. "The most celebrated. We were invited to every party. We won awards just for being spectacular. We had so much money I never wanted for anything." His face darkened. "I don't suppose you know about poison darts, boy?"  
Being a clever young man, of course Klaus knew what a poison dart was. But as he didn't know the context in which they were being talked about, he shook his head.   
Olaf grunted. "Of course your parents wouldn't tell you. Far too concerned with being noble. You know it's only fair, orphan, that I have your fortune seeing as they took mine."   
Klaus had been focusing very hard on removing a particularly stubborn bit of mould, but the insult against his parents made him pause.   
"They would do no such thing." He said fiercely. "My parents were noble. They wouldn't steal fortunes and my father definitely wouldn't push people out of windows."   
Olaf raised his eyebrow. For a moment Klaus thought he would come up with some terrible punishment for speaking out of turn. Instead, he rolled up his sleeve and showed Klaus a particularly nasty scar on his elbow.   
"My elbow took the most impact from the fall." He explained nonchalantly. "Luckily I'd landed in a box of very fancy doilies, otherwise I'm sure my back would have broken."  
Klaus hesitated as he looked at the silver lines curling around the joint. Something about the way it curved reminded Klaus of yet another eye. Would they ever get away from his watching gaze?  
"You must have been awful even then." Klaus finished. "I'm sure my father only would have pushed you if he felt it was absolutely necessary."  
Absolutely necessary is a curious expression often used when people try to excuse the horrific things they've done under the guise that it was a difficult decision. A village with a penchant for birds will say it is absolutely necessary to kill a visiting stranger in order to keep their people safe. A man newly married my ask his financial advisor wife if it was absolutely necessary to have a pre-nup that promised all his fortune to his wife (rather than equally amongst family) in the event of a surprisingly early death.   
Beatrice asked me a long time ago if it were absolutely necessary for me to leave her. As we disposed of the poison darts together, I kissed her one last time and said it was.   
I have regretted it ever since.   
For Klaus Baudelaire, he could only hope that his noble father really had felt it was absolutely necessary to do something morally wrong. He hoped that his father had realised there was no other option.   
I have not gone into the envy I feel for Bertrand Baudelaire, nevertheless I can confirm that he was an incredibly noble man in spite of the anger he held as he ran at Olaf so that they both fell out the window.   
Reader, while I like to spend my time pondering things in my past and wondering if I made the right decision in going on the lam, I must return to the events in Olaf's home.   
"At this court case," Olaf had changed the subject. "You will stand up before the judges and say you are happy for me to be in charge of your parents fortune. As your new father, you will tell them that I need to money to care for you all."   
While it was tempting for Klaus to outright refuse, he was finding the beatings and threats tiring.   
"What would be in it for me?" He asked. "And what would happen if I said no?"  
Something crossed Olaf's face that could only be described as pride. Certainly the smile he gave him seemed to confirm that.   
"Finally I'm seeing some of that clever personality I was promised." He crooned. "Very well, orphan. If you can play your part magnificently I'm sure I can organise a decent life for you. You want to go to school? I know a special school that are looking for brats who read too much. You'd fit in perfectly."   
It felt like Klaus' heart had stopped beating. Not because he was filled with dread at the news of going to school as I was when I was offered my place, but because he was sure there had to be some sort of catch to it. Olaf would not send him to a normal school. His intuitions were correct. This was not a normal school and you would be right to vigorously feel dread.   
Olaf's smirk brought Klaus out of his daydreams.   
"Not a thought for your sisters." He observed softly.   
Klaus flushed. "Of course I thought about them!"   
It is my job to tell the story of the Baudelaire orphans. However, my research lacks any interviews with them so any thoughts or feelings they have had, I have come across in diary form. On this occasion, Klaus chose to write down the dialogue and not his personal feelings. I can only take an educated guess that Klaus had not thought about his sisters at all and was left feeling very ashamed. 

"Do you have a whisk?"   
It was the fourth time Violet had asked Klaus for something and he and Sunny were holding their breath with anticipation.   
They were in the kitchen organising dinner for the troupe. Over the six months they'd been there, the Baudelaire children had drastically improved their cooking skills, with Sunny in particular being a real visionary in the culinary department. Her ingenious combinations of flavours had been well appreciated, and even though she still spoke mostly in jargon, she was hopeful of a book deal soon.   
Eagerly Klaus fetched it from the drawer and beamed as she popped it into her bag.   
"Partum!" Cried out Sunny.   
Violet frowned down at her little sister. "What do you mean?"   
"What are you making?" Klaus interrupted eagerly. "You're inventing something to get us out of here aren't you? Something to frame Count Olaf? You're inventions never fail, Violet!"  
A sadness washed over Violet tinged with irritation as she moved away from her siblings and began chopping the peppers. "I don't invent any more." She said shortly. "I've grown out of it."  
"Tesla!" Sunny had tottered along behind and was tugging at her skirt.   
Gently, Violet batted her hand away. "Nikola Tesla is different. When I was a child I wanted to be an inventor it's true, but things change. I've grown up. You will have to too one day."   
No one ever likes being told to grow up. Not only does it insinuate that you are childish, but it also refers to the ever ticking clock of your impending doom. My father once said to me that having a birthday was climbing a ladder. When you start you are pleased at your progress and cannot wait to get higher. However, you soon remember that you are afraid of heights and the ladder is wobbling precariously. You do not have the option to come back down, instead you must climb on. My father said that what comes up must come down and very often at the top of a ladder you will fall.   
As Violet climbed away from them (figuratively of course, she was not squirrel), Klaus and Sunny felt like she was hopelessly out of reach.   
"What can we do?" Klaus whispered hopelessly to Sunny. "Violet said the only ones who can get us out of here are ourselves. We need her help."  
"Ribbon." said Sunny.  
I am sure I do not need to translate for you what Sunny meant by ribbon. If you ever saw Violet tying her long hair back it meant the mechanical gears in her head were whirring away. It gave her focus and clarity.   
Sunny had been drastically outgrowing her old baby clothes and all of the Baudelaire's were reduced to wearing frayed rags. Clothes for infants can sometimes be impractically adorned, but on this occasion the ribbon around the hem was very practical indeed.   
I only wish I could have been there to see the toothy look of glee on Sunny Baudelaire's face as she presented Violet with a scrap of ribbon. Unfortunately during this time I was hiding in box meant for miniature giraffes made of tin and completely unaware of the plight of the Baudelaire children.   
As Violet took the ribbon, Klaus saw the softest change to her face, as if she had climbed several rungs down a particularly wobbly ladder and felt safe once more. Her hands were trembling with anticipation as she looped it round her hair.   
"I prefer you with your hair down."   
The rasp of Count Olaf was like a scratch of a record. The ribbon fluttered down to the floor. He lounged in the doorway, arms folded as he surveyed the scene. The mischievous smile did not bring them any comfort.   
"Of course." Violet turned her attention back to the washing up.   
"We were worried about food hygiene." Klaus improvised hurriedly. "Violet's hair is so long and we figured you wouldn't want any in your food."   
A twinkle in Olaf's shiny eyes showed he didn't believe him in the slightest. "How considerate, orphan. You have the real makings of a henchperson."   
Klaus squirmed.   
"Cupio?"  
"My sister asks how may we help." Violet translated as she tucked her hair behind her ears.   
"I have two very important guests coming round this evening." To the astonishment of the children, Olaf looked nervous. He fidgeted with his hands as if he were quite unsure what to do with himself. "Now that you orphans have finally managed to make my manor look somewhat presentable, I have invited them to dine. We will be up in my tower and under no circumstances are we to be disturbed. Violet, and only Violet, will be the one to bring up the meals." The worried face switched to a devious leer. "They want to meet my beautiful bride."   
Violet had grown so used to Olaf's mocking nature, she didn't so much as flinch.   
"The two of you will stay out of the way. I've not told them what I've done with the pair of you and no doubt they'll think you'd be better off dead in a ditch somewhere. If you stay out of their way, hopefully they'll forget about you."   
Years later Klaus would write in his journal that he wondered if this was a kindness on Count Olaf's part; A man who, he had suspected, didn't hold a decent bone in his body. For Klaus had always seen the world in black and white. It would take even more years for him to realise things are never quite that simple. 

"What are they like?"   
Violet shuddered as she put the tray on the kitchen counter. "Awful. Anyone who associates themselves with him is. They said some terrible things about the fire." She tailed off.   
Seeing the tears in her eyes, Klaus decided now was not the time to ask what they had said. "I bet Olaf was his usual prancing self."   
She shook her head. "Strangely, no. I've never seen him like that before. He was practically bowing down to them. He even stammered a few times. At one point they told him off and he just sat there quietly and took it."   
"What did they tell him off about?"   
"Something to do with a tea set." Violet yawned. "Where's Sunny?"   
"The hook handed man has been teaching her to carve birds."   
It was a curious feeling for the two eldest Baudelaire children. Sunny adored the hook handed man and it was clear he had taken a real shine to her too. He would sneak her sweets as she would beam up at him with adoration. And while most adults assumed Sunny was just pretending to talk, the hook handed man understood her and they would have conversations.   
The Baudelaire's knew they ought to be thankful that there was this kindness in Sunny's life, one so badly marked with tragedy even though it had been so short. Yet, they couldn't bring themselves to feel too gracious towards the hook handed man. He wasn't cruel to them, but he put Olaf's orders first. An decent adult would have seen three children suffering and taken them away. The hook handed man showed no such inclination.   
"I can't stay long." Violet was putting bottles of wine on the tray. "I have to get this back to them. They drink more than Olaf does." 

When Violet came down a few minutes later her face was as white as a sheet.  
"They want to meet you."

The man had a beard but no hair. The woman had hair but no beard. Aside from that they looked completely identical with beaked noses and piercing dark eyes. With their hunched shoulders and penetrating gaze, they reminded Klaus of a pair of vultures.   
I can confirm that these people are the two most wicked creatures I have ever had the misfortune to share a taxi with. They unnerve me so much, I will not even write down their names.   
"So this is Klaus Baudelaire." The man's voice was higher than expected.   
"The second child." The woman's voice was lower than expected.   
"You say he's clever?"  
"For an orphan." Olaf sneered as he stood watching the scene from the window. "He'll get too big for his boots if he thinks he's being praised. He has potential."   
The phrase too big for his boots come from the adventures of Tom J Ford. A man with feet so enormous every praised him. However, rumours of other men with feet big enough to rival his own, filled Tom with intense envy. He created a formula so that every time someone commented on the size of his feet, they would grow. At first he thought it was quite successful and everyone marvelled. However things quickly went downhill and soon no shoemaker stocked shoes big enough for him. He travelled the world looking for boots for his gigantic feet, sobbing as each passerby on the street marvelled at the size of his ever growing feet.   
"He's on the scrawny size. How old is he?"   
Olaf did some counting on his fingers. "Maybe nine?"   
"I'm fourteen." Klaus interrupted. "And I am capable of answering questions myself."   
The pair before him gave thin smiles that didn't quite reach their beady eyes.   
"We thought Olaf made a mistake keeping you alive, but he tells us that your head is like a library. We always need more people like that in the world. Do you know who win wars, boy?"   
Klaus shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The right side?"  
"That's what the history books want you to think." There was a gleam in the man with the hair but no beard's eyes. "The winning side get to write history so they always write that they were the noble and righteous ones."  
"The side who really wins is the clever side." The woman with the hair continued. "The cunning side."   
"The deceptive side."  
"Well done, you're catching on. There is so much you could learn from us, Klaus Baudelaire. So many things we could share." She looked at him slyly. "Things about your parents perhaps?"  
Klaus frowned. "What about my parents?"  
If you think back to when you were a child, or if you are already a child and just think, you will probably remember that you were so pre-occupied with your own lives that you didn't think about what kind of hobbies your parents might have. When they went out for dinners you probably didn't give it a second thought. It never would have crossed your minds that your parents were being liberal with the truth and actually were off in a submarine chase.   
"That thing in your pocket." It occurred to Klaus that he wasn't sure if he'd ever seen them blink. "You don't know what it is, do you? We do."   
I have often wondered myself in the man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard had x-ray eyes. Certainly that is the thought that Klaus was trying to push out of his mind as his hand curled protectively round the small metal object in his pocket. But how else could they have known.   
"Your parents kept secrets from you, boy. All sorts of secrets. Aren't you the slightest bit curious? Don't you want to know the circumstances in which they died? Who gave the orders? Who struck the match? Why it was done? If you join us, you'll learn all the secrets they kept hidden from you."   
The tightening in Klaus' chest was back. It felt like the three of them were looming over him, waiting for him to die so they could feast on his flesh.   
"I'll join you when pigs fly."   
It is a tragic tale how that expression came to be. A young boy was taken from his parents and sent to live on a farm. The farmers were cruel and he could only find solace in the pigs who always looked happy to see him and were kind. One night he heard the farmers say that the following morning all of the boy's friends would be sent to the slaughterhouse. The boy flung himself at the farmers feet and asked what could be done. The farmer laughed and said that he would change his mind when pigs fly. The boy spent the whole night trying to teach his friends to fly over the fence, even trying to invent a pig sized catapult. However, morning came and the boy was forced to say goodbye to his friends with tears streaming down his cheeks. I have held the guilt that I could not make pigs fly ever since.   
Klaus was not a cruel boy as the bald bearded farmer was, he merely meant he would only join them if something happened that defied logical explanation. In other words, he would never join them.   
The pair did not look put out in the slightest. Olaf looked bored.   
"Olaf has asked that Violet continue to belong to him." The woman with the hair but no beard said sweetly, as sweetly as a disturbingly low voice could be. "But he does not fight for your other sister with the same vigour. Little Sunny Baudelaire. I told your mother it was a foolish name. But your mother insisted that her little one was the light at the end of the tunnel."   
Klaus wanted more than anything to believe that his parents wouldn't have been associated with these terrible people. But he just didn't know what to believe any more. He'd thought the same of Count Olaf.   
"What shall we do with Little Sunny?" The woman with the hair but no beard continued slyly. "She's just a useless baby and I've never cared for infants. But my eagles do so enjoy the plump flesh of a little one."   
"Sunny has very sharp teeth." Klaus said automatically.   
The adults paused. Klaus licked his lips nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. "Very sharp teeth. The doctors have said it's a medical marvel. They think her adult ones could be even sharper. As a baby her teeth are already very useful, think how it could be with some training."  
"Bertrand's mother had sharp teeth." The man with the beard but no hair said thoughtfully. "Do you remember? She was always breaking the padlocks on my case."   
Klaus turned to Olaf, a little braver. "I don't know what you've done to make Violet so meek around you, but if anything happens to Sunny it will be like releasing a tiger from its cage."   
Olaf looked oddly triumphant. "It's not what I've done." The gleam in his eyes was terrible. "It's what I do. Still, bookworm, you make a valid point. Without the biting brat I do lose my bargaining chip - particularly if these two decided to become your mentors."  
"We shall." The woman with the hair but no beard interrupted. "Klaus Baudelaire, I knew you would be just as cunning as your mother. Your father would have been too noble and tried to appeal to my better side, oh please she's just an infant and all that nonsense. It's just a shame your mother had to leave my tutoring and marry him."


	15. 'cause you made me cry

Beatrice When I first saw you, you took my breath away. Now I can breathe again and you cannot.

Hiraeth. Do you know what it means? The Welsh say it cannot be truly translated as emotions can only be felt. If you were forced to give an answer, you would say it is longing for home.   
As Klaus Baudelaire watched the rain fall on the glass, more than anything he longed for home. His own bed. The favourite books he kept on his shelf. The comfy chair he would read in. His father's joyous laugh booming through the house. The gentle caress from his mother's hand on his cheek. There was a dull ache in his body where he could feel something missing. A part of him that would never return.   
Normally when you lose someone you can look at old photographs and smile. You can seek comfort in the other things in life that bring you joy. On the particularly awful days you can build yourself a pillow fort and refuse to come out. You can prepare for their funeral and say goodbye.   
The Baudelaire children had not been able to do any of these things. They did not even know their parents final resting place.   
He pressed a finger against the cold glass and traced the markings of an old raindrop. On rainy days with his father they would pick raindrops and see which one won the race. It had all been very silly, but right now he missed it more than anything.   
Sunny had been distressed all night, in pain as more teeth came through. He'd held a cool compress her cheek as she cried, hoping desperately that it was the right thing to do. He'd never read books on child-rearing before. His parents were there to do that. She'd only just started to go to sleep properly as the sun began to rise, so Klaus had left her to sleep in bed while he came downstairs for breakfast.   
"Do you remember Mother making the soldiers to go with these?" Violet's voice broke his train of thought.   
She almost seemed like her old self. As if talking about their parents again had brought back an old glow. She marched her fingers around the egg before cracking it open with the spoon.   
"I remember you cried when you first heard the nursery rhyme."  
"It still does seem rather terrible that he couldn't be put back together again." Klaus remembered. "I'd like to believe anything broken could be fixed."  
Violet smiled. "Perhaps they didn't try hard enough. Perhaps there's a second verse another group of people come along and save the day. Think of all the nursery rhymes that would help. They've always been strangely dark seeing as they were made for children."  
"They're cautionary tales." Klaus had read a book on the origins of nursery rhymes a few years ago. "To remind children to be well behaved."   
"Where's Sunny?" Violet had a mouthful of egg.   
"Her teeth are coming through. She was up most of the night. I thought I'd let her sleep."   
Violet nodded, frowning slightly as she looked back down at her breakfast.   
"I made a cool compress." Klaus continued. "I wasn't sure what else to do for her. Do you think I did the right thing?"  
His older sister wasn't listening, she'd gone pale. "Klaus, did you cook these properly?"  
He hesitated. Lack of sleep had led to a mind that struggled to focus, one that already had ghosts floating around in his thoughts. "I think so. Violet, are you-"  
"I think I'm going to be sick."   
As Violet pushed past him and ran out of the room Klaus felt terrible. The first time she'd almost been her old self and he'd ruined it by giving her food poisoning.   
If I had been there I would reassured him that he would not be the first or last person to give anyone food poisoning. I myself am able to inflict that on anyone simply by offering them a slice of toast. It would be the youngest Baudelaire who would be the food genius. For the middle Baudelaire, his talents lay elsewhere. 

It had been quite some time since Klaus had met Justice Strauss by the fence. Not since he'd dragged Violet there and demanded she tell her what had been going on. Where he could, Klaus had been stealing scraps of paper, writing notes and slipping them through the gap in the hope she would see them. However, as he stared through the gap now he could see that all his secret messages had begun to melt in the rain. Initially he'd believed that she was just being kept busy at the High Court, but as the days went by and the Daily Punctillio ran stories on how the case was stagnant, Klaus began to lose faith.   
He and Sunny had left the house once before. He could do it again. Rather than having to walk miles into the city, he only had to go next door. He could be there and back without anyone knowing. Quickly scribbling a hasty message in case she was out, Klaus slipped his shoes on.   
As before, every tiny noise seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. Every creak of the floorboard was a scream, the turn of the rusty door handle a terrible groan. With all the noises and the eyes watching him, it was hard not feel like the house was conspiring against him. 

The first thing Klaus noticed was the length of the grass. When they'd first seen Justice Strauss, her home had been as pristine as one you might find in a children's book of illustrations of wonderful places. The house was spotless and not a thing out of place.   
The grass was not in a jungle state by any means, but enough to conceal any snakes that may be slithering in the grounds. It even spilled onto the little cobbled path that led up to her front door. Klaus spent the whole time staring at his feet, sure that at any moment an adder would strike at his ankles.   
Thankfully he got to the door in one piece, but as he was staring at the ground something else caught his eye.   
A stack of newspapers. Justice Strauss received a newspaper daily and yet not a single one from the past few weeks had made its way inside. They had been rained on and the ink swirled together until it was all an unintelligible mess.   
Just like the Daily Punctillio.   
The house was quiet too. Too quiet. And when Klaus peered through the windows he could see no lights were on. Nor was anything out of place as a home would be if it were lived in. No shoes by the door, no coat on the coat stand, no dishes in the sink. It looked like a show home.   
A show home is what real estate agents use to persuade you to part with large sums of money. They are beautifully clean and gorgeously designed. In your eagerness to own a home with no dust, you purchase without thinking of what will happen when you move in and begin to live your life.   
A dear friend of mine was afraid of real estate agents for this very reason. She'd bought a home for an obscene amount of money, without thinking of the implications a home so close to a very large lake could bring. Nor about how difficult it would be to keep clean. The whole ordeal left her a very afraid woman.   
Klaus Baudelaire was very afraid now.   
"Justice Strauss?" He called through the letterbox. "Justice Strauss? Please, are you there? Justice Strauss, let me in. I need to talk to you."   
"You can call all you want, she won't answer." The wheeze of Count Olaf screamed in his ears like nails on a chalkboard. It was a voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. It was a voice that inspired flight or fight.   
Even though Klaus had shot up in recent months, Count Olaf was still taller and had the confident presence of a villain to make it feel like he loomed over him. Stubble grazed over his sharp jawline and he wore the same suit he'd been wearing for the past few days, grime from dinner and wine stains seeping into the fabric. His terrifying amber eyes walked curiously as he picked dirt from his fingernails with his knife.   
"Why won't she answer?" He felt his voice wobble. "What have you done to her?"   
The smile Olaf gave wasn't reassuring.   
"She's gone, orphan." He always curled the r to make the word longer. "Gone and not coming back."   
Klaus felt sick as he started at the knife. Surely Olaf hadn't-  
Olaf hooted with laughter when he saw the look on Klaus' face. "She's not dead. She's abandoned you. The High Court insisted her living next door corrupted the ongoing case." He paused, a genuine smile creeping over his thin lips. "Which is good for me. Can't have my beloved bride and children getting any ideas."   
Have you ever stumbled in the dark? It's never a pleasant experience. The drop in your stomach. The desperately reaching out to try and catch yourself. The fear of hitting the unknown. When Klaus Baudelaire lost his parents it was like stumbling in the dark. Stuck in a never ending journey of that jolt of a fall, arms flailing as you cry out for help.   
Justice Strauss in their lives had been like the gentle brush of fingertips. A small hope that if you manage to catch ahold of her hands she will help steady you.   
Now that was gone. The drop in his stomach had returned.   
How would he tell his sisters? How could he find the words to tell them that their tiny light in all of this darkness had gone away?   
Reader, if you were hoping that at this point Justice Strauss would appear and beat Count Olaf with a frying pan, knocking him unconscious and saving the day, you are experiencing very fanciful delusions. There is no frying pan. Perhaps there is some sort of website you can go to and write your own cheerful stories with the people whose lives I am dedicated to documenting. If there is such a place, I encourage you to go and write all sorts of happy things about the lives of Violet, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire. Happy things they deserve. Not the content I am forced to report here.   
The short walk back to the house was silent as Klaus was frogmarched down the path. Despite the tireless efforts of the Baudelaire's to improve the Count's home, it still held that same aura of menace. The garden was tidier now, no longer an outside bin overgrown with weeds and decades of grime had been scrubbed from the windows. Yet as Klaus stared up at it he still felt exactly the same as he did when he first was introduced to his new home. He determined it wasn't the appearance that created the menace, but what lay inside.   
The man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard had promised Klaus they would return to hear his decision about leaving his sisters for a life under their mentorship. They'd promised him education, a decent home, foundations for a good life. When Sunny was old enough they'd offer her the same thing. The alternative was a life in slavery with Count Olaf, subject to his every whim and beating. Sunny would never be offered the chance to escape if he turned them down.   
In either scenario, Violet would stay with Olaf. Klaus didn't want to leave her but it would rob Sunny of the chance for a new life. Was it really best for the three of them to stay together? He used to think they needed to cling together to survive, but what use was that if they were all being used as bargaining chips against the other? Was it possible for him to begin his education, grow into a man and then come and rescue his sisters?   
"You look like you're making a vastly frightening decision." Olaf observed, his grip on Klaus' collar still tight.   
Klaus scowled. "They said I have until the last leaf fell. I have plenty of time."   
"Time has a habit of speeding up when we want it to slow down." Olaf mused. "Just be lucky they're giving you the decision. When I was a boy I was just taken from my parents."   
Klaus couldn't imagine Olaf as a boy. He was like an ageless demon who'd been born from hell since the creation of earth. Then again, it would not do to be so dismissive. Klaus knew hardly anything about his guardian.   
"You were taken?"   
"That's just how things were done then." Olaf was nonchalant, bored even. "It's easier that way. I expect it would have been easier for you too instead of having all this inner turmoil."   
In a way Klaus had to agree. "Then why did they ask me?"   
They'd stopped by the front door. The decorate eye staring at them. "You're probably the most famous boy for miles right now. The Baudelaire orphans are in every newspaper. This upcoming case into my marriage to your sister will make history. It would just not do to have you disappear into thin air just yet." He leaned in, his foul breath on Klaus' face. "But mark my words, orphan. Just because I have been advised to keep you alive doesn't mean I will stick to my word. If you annoy me enough, I will kill you or that biting thing you call a baby. I will take your sister and we will hide where nobody will ever be able to find us. Remember orphan, I'm currently doing things the legal way. I have no qualms about breaking the law to get what I want."   
My parents had decided they wanted to educate my siblings at home. It was extremely controversial and we spent much of my childhood on the run from the organisation my parents loved. Eventually they caught up with us and my siblings and I were bundled into the back of a taxi and sent off to school. Exhausted from being stuck in a boot, we three collapsed into our beds and tried to get some sleep.   
However, muffled sobs was the music that night. My little sister, who has always been too kind for her own good, padded out of bed to investigate. A boy around the age of our older brother was crying into his pillow. She took his hand and soothed him. Six years old and gently shushed him to sleep as if she were his mother.   
I wish I had a time machine so I could go back to that moment and push aside that small girl, saving her from years of heartbreak in the future. I wish I could stop them from becoming thick as thieves. I wish I could stop the starry look on her face as she fell for him and his charms. I wish I could stop the corruption of that young boy. But most of all, I wish Count Olaf had never been taken from his home that night.


	16. I slipped my hand under her skirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning - Descriptions of sexual assault.

The wine had gone to his head. He could feel himself swimming in it. Everything distorted, the room a colourful blur of spinning shapes with an orchestra of cackles and shrieks. His senses were on fire, everything at once smothering him.  
The girl. Her face. The fierceness in her eyes when he struck her brother. She held the same fire as her mother. The two brats took after their father, a firework explosion of anger. It looked impressive but it didn't do much. Her mother's fire had always been a candle. Warm and inviting and able to cause chaos at the smallest nudge.  
She'd whisked her younger siblings out of harms way and hurried them upstairs. It was smart of her. There was no point fighting when they were vastly outnumbered. No doubt she was sly just like her mother.  
He pictured her standing before him. Those large dark doe eyes peeping up at him behind those long lashes. The slight quiver of her bottom lip as she chewed it nervously. The tremble of her body when he pulled her close. He imagined his hands running through her long dark hair, tugging onto it as a reminder that she belonged to him now.  
Or at least she would. Very soon. The finest role of his acting career would bring him the Baudelaire fortune and a wife with just her signature.  
The thought of ripping off her white wedding dress made it feel like the blood in his veins were on fire. The women he'd surrounded himself with were fantastic when your confidence was feeling low. They were loud and never afraid of heaping praise on him. They begged and teased and flirted. Always eager for anything he desired. They screamed out that he was the best, the very best and pouted when he sent them away.  
With her he knew it would be different. He imagined brushing away the silent tears as her eyes regarded him with fear and uncertainty. Every now and then she would go to fight him but her struggles would quickly go limp as he'd overpower her. He imagined their skin touching, how soft she would be. How she'd shiver.  
At the table he'd make sure he was close enough to slip his hand up her skirt. It would amuse him to see her stiffen. Sometimes he'd trace his knife over her knee just to see her hold her breath. Although his hand would go under her skirt, he was disciplined enough to make sure that he never went higher than her knee.  
He had to have a taste.  
As Olaf stood up he nearly fell over. A blur of shapes to his left suggested his comrades were there to offer assistance.  
"Stay where you are." He waved a hand dismissively at them. "I don't need you for this."  
The climb up the staircase felt like climbing a mountain when you were this drunk. Most of the time he wouldn't bother and instead pass out on the sofa. But he wasn't headed to his bed.  
As Olaf reached the landing he realised that the climb had somehow sobered him up a little. Certainly he was able to make out more than vague shapes. The hint of sobriety didn't tell him to turn back. It edged him forwards.  
She was asleep on the floor, shivering in the cold under a thin blanket. Very soon she would know the comfort of his bed, lying asleep in his arms.  
He straddled her so that she was pinned to the floor between his thighs. As he leaned into her, the girls eyes fluttered open. Instantly he pressed his hand over her mouth and gave a pointed look at her siblings. She wasn't stupid, despite the terror in her eyes, she knew what he meant.  
Her nightdress was thin. Now he was over her he could make out every part of her body. The smoothness of her skin. Her growing breasts. The darker section between her legs.  
Olaf's hand grabbed her hair and pulled her forwards for a kiss. The poor thing bucked her hips at him in any effort to get away, too innocent to realise it was creating quite a different effect.  
He moved his other hand over her breast and let out a low groan as he felt her nipple, already hard from the cold. His thumb traced round it softly as Violet continued to try and squirm away from him. The kissing intensified. He'd always preferred kisses that were like fights. His desire was burning now, desperate for a release.  
As he pulled away she froze. Although she kept her dark eyes fixed on him, it was as if he could see into the mechanical cogs of her mind as she tried to work out a plan.  
Nothing could have prepared her for Olaf sliding his hand up her leg, pushing past the flimsy fabric she slept in. As his fingers began to softly trace around her inner thigh a tear fell down her cheek.  
"If you tell anyone." Olaf whispered. "Your life will become so much more difficult. Who would believe a child over me anyway? You have no proof."  
When his fingers brushed over her secret she let out a small sob.  
"You're quite safe." He soothed. "This doesn't count. It's just a touch. I deserve that, don't I? Just a simple touch? It's not my fault you've been teasing me so. Tormenting me. I deserve something."  
His fingers pressed against her and he noted she pressed her lips together as if to stop herself from screaming.  
He was desperate to fuck her. But to do so could put his plan in jeopardy. If she snitched on him and they examined her, his little bit of fun would see him in a cell before he could say jailbait. He would just have to have a little bit of fun as and when he could. It wouldn't be long before she'd be completely his.  
Violet had closed her eyes and leaned back into her pillow, waiting for him to get it over with. When he took his hand away she peeked at him through one eye in surprise.  
"Not yet." He kissed her. "Not yet."

Beatrice  
There is only silence.

Klaus Baudelaire was very concerned. Not only had Justice Strauss upped and gone, now it felt like Violet had done the same. The day he had gone to see their kindly neighbour his sister had been absent. They'd not seen her the next day or the next.  
Reader, I am sure you will remember that Violet Baudelaire had been absent before but reappeared as if nothing had happened. Initially that's what the youngest Baudelaire's thought would happen again. However, as the days went on their panic grew. Sunny had remembered an old trick of Violet's to open any unlocked doors around the manor but still they had no luck.   
"You are flogging a dead horse."   
In order to make a horse do your bidding, you may decide to be exceptionally cruel and flog it, flogging being the action of beating something with a whip or a stick. Now you and I may think that would be a wicked thing to do and suggest that kindness works far better, but some enjoy the powerplay too much. If you were flog a dead horse it suggests that you have overworked your poor horse and continue to beat it in the stupid belief that enough despicable behaviour will cause it to rise again.   
It was just the sort of thing a nefarious villain like Count Olaf might do.   
"Do you know what that means, orphan?"  
"Of course I do." Klaus had been caught kneeling by one of the locks on the door. Scowling he put away the lock pick. "It means to keep trying is a waste of time."   
Olaf had a habit of sneaking up on the Baudelaire's recently. He and the hook handed man stood on the landing with the same smug smile a cat might have if it came across some mice. It was all the eyes in the house, Sunny Baudelaire had decided. He was always watching them.   
"Voyeur." She announced which meant something along the lines of Stop spying on us you creepy man!  
Olaf had never bothered to get to know Sunny's language, preferring to ignore anything she said. Now was no exception.   
"Take the biting brat somewhere she'll be quiet." Olaf ordered the hook handed man. "Until she learns to talk properly I have no desire to have her in my company."   
Sunny came out with something she'd heard the bald man with the long nose say. To her it sounded rather splendid. I won't translate it.   
"Where's Violet?" The fierceness Klaus had once held onto felt like a dying ember. "I just want to know if she's safe."   
Olaf regarded him curiously and held out his hand. Sighing, Klaus retrieved the lock pick from his pocket and gave it to him. Olaf held it up to the light.   
"This is very good."   
Coming from Olaf it didn't feel like a compliment.   
"It's one of Violet's inventions." Klaus shrugged. "She always used to make things." He felt a pang as he realised he remembered her last invention. The grappling hook before the wedding. That was months ago now.   
Olaf tucked it away. "Your sister is safe. She just needs some time away."   
"Can I see her?"   
The older man flashed his wicked smile. "I don't think so. You're a bad influence on my wife. I'll decide when you can enjoy each other's company again. Be thankful you still have the biting brat."   
Utterly despondent, Klaus wanted nothing more than to go to the room and hide away until this whole horrible mess was over. But Olaf was blocking his way.   
"Do you know something, orphan?" From his mocking tone it didn't sound like something Klaus wanted to know. "I'd always arranged that Violet was going to be the one I used to get my hands on the fortune."   
Klaus looked up. "Well she is the oldest." He said dully. "You'd have less time to wait."   
"Clever boy. You are only a little younger, but as we both know you do a wonderful job in irritating me. I could never guarantee that one day I wouldn't kill you in anger. Then I'd be left with a baby and I'm not nearly patient enough to wait for her to grow up into anything useful." His eyes shone. "But there is another reason."   
You may want to find out more about your favourite superhero. You may want to find out more details when making your favourite recipe. Many years ago I tortured myself wanting to know more reasons why the woman I loved returned my engagement ring, even though the explanation in her letter was quite long enough.   
Klaus Baudelaire did not want to hear any more from Count Olaf. However, as he moved to leave, Olaf put out hand to stop him.   
"It was always going to be Violet." He was so close Klaus could feel the foul odour brushing against his cheek. "I needed a wife to seize the Baudelaire fortune. And I must say, it helps that she's pretty."   
As Klaus' fist flew up to meet his guardian's face, he caught it easily.   
"Dear oh dear." He tutted. "Temper temper."   
Klaus could feel the heat in his face rising, much to Olaf's glee.   
"Have I made your blush, orphan? Have you given it much thought what it means to be a wife?" When Klaus didn't answer, Olaf's mouth formed into a delighted o. "Oh. Do you not know, orphan? Are you so sheltered? Has she not told you?"   
Klaus tried to move his arm away but Olaf kept a tight grasp on his fist.   
"Would you like me to tell you, orphan?" He wheezed. "I could tell you what happens between a man and his wife. Would you like that?"   
"Boss?" The bald man with the long nose was back. The distraction gave Klaus enough time to break free.   
"What?" Olaf snapped.  
"They're on the phone for you."   
With a grim determination Olaf stalked back down the stairs. As Klaus passed the bald man with the long nose he heard him chuckle, "I think she's pretty too. I wonder if boss would let me have a taste." 

Back in the room Klaus heaved. His head was spinning so he sat on the bed and put his head between his legs. He tried to imagine his father patting his back and his mother stroking his hair, just as they used to. Yet he couldn't conjure them up. Olaf's words kept swimming through his head.   
He knew all about the stars in the sky. He knew about poisons and their antidotes. He knew the lists of kings and queens all over the world and when they reigned. He did not know the things his parents promised him they would tell him when he was older.   
Klaus Baudelaire was desperate to protect his sisters. But at this moment he just felt like a small boy.


	17. I said don't worry

Beatrice, I wish time could have stood still so that you do not have to lie still in your grave

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.  
Klaus Baudelaire could not sleep. The thudding in his ears was the demanding noise of his heart. You may think that he ought to think on the bright side, it is far better to hear your heartbeat than to not. However, to Klaus Baudelaire although he knew it was only the beating of his heart, it did not sound like it. To him it sounded like the ticking of a clock. A constant reminder that time was marching forwards, chipping away at his life. He couldn't help but feel that he was running out of time.   
Violet had been missing for a month. He and Sunny would wake up in the mornings, sure that today would be the day she'd reappear in the kitchen. At first they thought she'd have an explanation. As they weeks went by, they realised an explanation didn't matter. They just needed to see her again.   
In a fit of anger one night, Klaus had accused Olaf of murder. His guardian had laughed cruelly at him, but pointed out that if he wanted to win the court case, it was in his best interests that Violet remained alive. Klaus had to agree.   
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.   
Sometimes lying in bed made him feel like he was trapped in an hourglass, slowly suffocating under the weight of all the sand. The constant ticking in his head was like a poke.   
Think. Think. Think!  
One day I would love to reach out to Klaus Baudelaire and say that I know how he felt during the dark difficult time. It's like being hurried towards an edge of a cliff. You're desperately trying to dig your feet in but it's not working. Eventually you're left trying to work out if you can make yourself fly. It's a terribly isolating time. 

Justice Strauss

We are in desperate need of your help. We can't find Violet anywhere. Olaf says that she is safe but won't say any more. Please come for us soon or send the authorities to help us. 

Until we meet again

Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire

The message had been hurriedly scrawled on a scrap of newspaper the wart faced man had thrown at them in anger that morning. Now they just needed to work out how to get it to its recipient.   
"I'm afraid of what will happen if we get caught." Klaus said bluntly to his little sister. "I'm not sure it's worth the risk."   
Sunny looked up at him fiercely. "For Violet."   
She was right. They would do it for her just as she would do for them.   
"How can we get the message to Justice Strauss? We're not allowed to leave the house and we don't even know where she lives now."  
"Letterbox."  
Klaus sighed. "Sunny a letterbox is for letters coming in. Not for letters going out."  
"Letterbox." She insisted again.   
Out of the mouth of babes is an expression often used fondly by adults when a child says something particularly precocious or blunt, usually about another adult. For example, they may say it if little Jimmy announces to their particularly large Uncle Gregory "are you sure you want another slice of cake?" The gleeful adults around him will say "out of the mouth of babes" no doubt humiliating poor Uncle Gregory further when the poor man only wanted to celebrate his birthday.   
The expression really means when someone so innocent comes out with something so wise. Sunny Baudelaire was an infant, therefore as innocent as someone can be and her insisting letterbox was a very clever idea.   
That is how the two Baudelaire children found themselves with baited breath the following morning, kneeling by the letterbox, clutching their crumpled message and waiting for the post.   
As the letters were pushed through, Klaus pushed their message back.   
There was a moment of hesitation, but the Post Officer took it. 

A few days later there was still no sign of the authorities surrounding the house, ready to pounce on Count Olaf if he tried to flee. Nor did they see Justice Strauss running up the path to whisk the children away. They tried again. And again. And again.   
"Olaf?"  
Klaus shook his head. "If Olaf were intercepting the messages, we'd know about it by now. Perhaps they can't find Justice Strauss? She could be well hidden."   
"Aeolist." Sunny said glumly which meant there's always Mr Poe.   
Mr Poe was incredibly useless. I am sorry to say it wasn't just the Baudelaire's who held this view of him. Have you ever seen blinkers on a horse? Blinkers are small cups placed either side of the horse's eyes. It is believed that the blinkers keep the horse focused on the finishing line rather than being distracted by its surroundings.   
It has often been thought that Mr Poe went through life wearing blinkers. So focused on his idea of what life should be like, that if a lion came running up full speed from the side, he wouldn't know until it was too late.   
Yet he was one of the few adults in their lives who was in a position to do anything. 

Mr Poe

Violet has been missing for over a month. Olaf will not tell us where she is and we are desperately worried for her safety. You promised you would come round and see us, please come quickly. We need to be moved away from this terrible place. 

Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire

Much like the letters to Justice Strauss, any letters to Mr Poe went unanswered. Klaus had taken to whispering through the letterbox, begging whoever it was to deliver them. There was only silence on the other side of the door. From their glimpses through the letterbox they could see it was always the same man. Perhaps in his forties with a stronger build than you'd expect from a post officer and dark hair. One day as he was walking away Sunny let out a shriek.   
"Look!"   
He was getting further away, but it was unmistakable. The trouser legs were riding up higher and on his left ankle was the same tattoo of an eye that haunted their nightmares.   
"That's why they've been not getting our messages." Klaus groaned as they sunk to the floor. "He must work for Count Olaf."   
"Quiet?"  
Klaus frowned. "Yes. I would have thought Olaf would say something as soon as we sent over the first message. Maybe because the letters aren't going anywhere he doesn't mind."   
"Distracted." Sunny said glumly.   
"We've spent more time focusing on other people getting us out of this mess and not us." Klaus agreed. "Violet was right. We've got to be the ones to do it." 

As Klaus and Sunny served dinner that night, Olaf and his troupe were full of merriment.   
"Every day the clock ticks faster to me getting my hands on the fortune." Olaf crowed as he raised a toast. "It's been a long time coming but I will win!"  
"Of course you will." The white faced women fluttered their eyelashes. "Handsome heroes always do."   
"When is the hearing?" The bald man with the long nose was the only one who'd stayed somewhat sober.   
"In two months." Olaf's eyes were bright with joy. "Next month the defence will plead their case. They'll drag it out for as long as they can, but I have another card up my sleeve no one will be able to argue with."  
Klaus and Sunny exchanged a brief look. They'd speculate later.   
"Is that banker coming back here any time soon?"   
Klaus froze. The hook handed man could only mean Mr Poe. When had he visited?   
His reaction had been enough to get himself noticed. Olaf looked pleased.   
"Why yes, orphan. Your precious Mr Poe has been round a few times since you asked him to check up on you three." He patted Sunny on the head in a mock gesture of fatherly affection. "Such a shame that you and the little brat are always out playing when he arrives."   
Klaus flushed. "I don't believe you. Mr Poe would never -"  
"Mr Poe does what I tell him." Olaf cut in, his voice firm. "The man is a coward at best. He's even starting to come round to the idea of my marriage to your sister. Look at Romeo and Juliet."  
Look at Romeo and Juliet indeed. The classic tale follows two teenagers who, in an act of rebellion against their parents, decide to declare their love after a very brief conversation. By the second day they are married. By the third, they are dead. Juliet in the story is thirteen years old, younger than Violet and Klaus. I don't think anyone would say that the romance of Romeo and Juliet is a particularly good advert for child marriage. Instead it hints at the whimsiness of teenagers as they try to wriggle free from the apron strings of their parents.   
Violet Baudelaire no longer had parents to try and wiggle free from. Most importantly, her feelings towards Count Olaf can only be described as hatred and disgust. For Olaf it could only be described as greed and lust. They were no more the poster couple for underage marriage than I am the poster child for uplifting motivational stories.   
"Romeo dies." Sunny announced.   
Olaf scowled. "I preferred it when I didn't understand you. Believe me, orphans, I have no such intention."   
"Will we be allowed to see any of the case?" Klaus said carefully. "People may expect to see us there."   
The troupe exchanged wary glances as Olaf considered Klaus over the rim of his wine glass.   
"It is true I want you to give evidence in my favour, orphan." Olaf said finally. "Telling the court about how lucky you are to have me as a father and that sort of thing. But how can I be sure I can trust you? Besides," he finished the glass. "You were told you had until the leaves fell to make your decision. The leaves would have fallen by then."   
The man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard. Would he join them? Not if Sunny would be left on her own. He'd only consider it if she'd be kept safe with Violet. They'd made him promises that if he came with them his siblings would be safe, but could he really trust them?   
As Sunny poured the white faced women more wine, one of them flinched.   
"Olaf, she's positively feral." She complained. "The teeth were frightening enough, but now look at her."   
Olaf glanced over and shrugged. "I don't see the problem."  
As a baby, Sunny was rapidly growing every day. When the children had first been brought to the Poe's, Mrs Poe had kindly supplied them with clothes, albeit very boring slightly itchy ones. For Sunny she had bought several sizes larger to make room for a growing toddler. However, Sunny was quickly growing out of the last of these clothes. The dresses were too short and Klaus had had to make some clumsy adjustments with scissors and patches of old clothes hastily held together with thread. Whenever she moved it would start to come apart.   
"Sunny needs new clothes." Klaus tried. "She's growing out of them."   
His guardian waved his hand dismissively. "You're the ones with the massive fortune. Use that."   
"You know we can't." He gritted his teeth. "We don't have access to it. No one does. But Sunny needs clothes."   
"Sunny needs to stop being so spoiled." Olaf snarled. "Get out of my sight, both of you." 

Some time later as Klaus and Sunny were finishing up cleaning in the kitchen, the hook handed man snuck in with a bag under his arm and a scowl on his face.   
"Here." He thrust the bag at Klaus. "How's this?"   
Inside were dresses, socks, shoes - anything a toddler might need to clothe themselves with. They were a little worn in places, some fraying on the hems and the occasional stain, but to Klaus and Sunny it was like the greatest gift in the world.   
Sunny patted his hooks. "Thank you."   
His scowl softened. "Don't tell the boss. He won't notice you wearing these, but he won't like it if he found out where you got these from."  
"Where did you get these from?"   
The hook handed man shrugged uncomfortably. "I had a little sister. My house still has all her old things. I figured they were going to waste just sitting there."   
"Thank you."   
And Klaus really did mean it. The hook handed man wasn't necessarily a kind soul, a hero who would rescue them from this terrible place, but he had taken it upon himself to help them.   
The pair exchanged an awkward smile before the hook handed man left. 

Sunny had fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit the makeshift pillow. In her new pyjamas, she looked comfortable and content - something Klaus had not seen in a very long time.   
But despite the act of kindness from the hook handed man, Klaus still could not sleep.   
It was the beating of his heart keeping him away again. The thudding of his own mortality. The stomping towards an end he could not predict. It was screaming out at him Time's running out! He was running out of time to make his decision. And I'm sorry to say that Violet Baudelaire was also running out of time. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.  
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.


	18. It's not gonna hurt

Beatrice, years ago the passionate love you held for me was extinguished. I wish the same could have been said for your house.

As a much younger child, Klaus Baudelaire had happened across a book in the family library. The cover of the book showed a dozen frolicking fairies who looked like they were having a rather splendid time without a care in the world.   
However, as Klaus began to read the book he found that he was not reading the tale of a group of plucky fairies, but a terrifying record of the monsters who walk among us. Stories of people who turned against one another with weapons of fire and murder. He lay awake that night in terror, unable to sleep, fearing the shadows that may climb through his bedroom window.   
His father checked on him that night and, being an honest boy, Klaus showed him the book.   
"You judged the book by the cover." His father had given him a hug. "Always read the blurb." He'd turned the book over and shown Klaus the small sentence on the back in his mother's handwriting.  
A history of the secret organisation and its tragedies.   
The expression judge a book by its cover is not just limited to books. More often than not we use it to describe people. You may expect the shabby teenager listening to music on the bus to be listening to some unintelligible hip-hop, when really they are listening to opera. The cooing pre-school teacher offering you cookies could have laced them with poison. The woman dressed in ripped jeans and a shirt may not be your waitress but actually the owner of the chain of restaurants and highly successful entrepreneur.   
Needless to say, Klaus Baudelaire had learned his lesson. And by the time this next person comes into play, he was glad that he had.   
She was tall, made taller still by the staggering stilettos on her feet. Her slender frame clothed in a pinstripe business suit of exceptional quality. Not a hair on her platinum blonde hair was out of place, pulled into a tight bun. Her wide eyes were framed by long eyelashes that gave her a look of being permanently startled. Some years ago, Klaus would have been taken in by her undeniable beauty and winning smile, not knowing that this is precisely how this woman operated. Another expression applies to this woman. A wolf in sheeps clothing.   
Dear Reader, I beg you to look away before you encounter yet another ghastly character in the lives of the Baudelaire children. From experience I can tell you that while this woman dances around with charm and grace, underneath she is plotting your demise. So look away.   
You are still here. Then let's continue.   
"Greetings, orphans." Olaf had his arm around her shoulders looking inordinately pleased with himself. "This is -"  
"Esme Gigi Geniveve Squalor." Her teeth were so white it was almost blinding. "The city's sixth most important financial advisor."   
"She's extremely wealthy," Olaf interrupted. "So don't expect to spend too much time with her. She has richer things to focus on."   
Klaus and Sunny exchanged a glance. The last thing they needed was another person after their fortune. Was Esme advising Olaf on how to access their finances? Was she the card under his sleeve he spoke of?   
"Hello, Ms Squalor." Klaus said politely. "My name is Klaus Baudelaire and this is my sister Sunny."   
Esme's wide eyes narrowed slightly but she kept the same spellbinding smile. It reminded Sunny of a shark. "Oh I know all about you Baudelaire's. Such a shame that orphans are no longer in or I would have snapped you up myself."  
"In?" Sunny questioned.   
She rolled her eyes. "In fashion. But now you're out. Just like darkness, pasta and miniature statues of unicorns."   
The Baudelaire's had never predicted that one day they would be put in the same group as miniature statues of unicorns but, as you may have guessed by now, their lives were filled with such tragedy that really nothing should be surprising any more.   
"How do you know each other?" Klaus remembered his mother had once told him that small talk was the best way to be a detective. Tiny pieces of information can drip into conversation, secrets they're not even aware they're sharing. I taught her that.   
The look they gave each other was positively repulsive. Esme had the exterior of an extremely beautiful woman and yet she was looking at Count Olaf as if his handsomeness was her equal. It confused Klaus and Sunny no end. I should explain however that while good hearts are drawn to good hearts, dark hearts are drawn to darker hearts.   
"My dearest Esme was my protege." Olaf purred as they nuzzled noses. "My little student. My most promising star."   
"Olaf taught me all I needed to know to be a successful actress." Esme beamed.   
"Are you a successful actress?"  
She looked irritated. "I'm the city's sixth most important financial advisor you brat. I've been too busy making money to tread the boards." Her smile returned as she peeped up at Olaf in adoration. "But all that is about to change. I am ready to be your actress again."   
As they leaned in for a kiss, Sunny blurted out.  
"Where Violet?"  
I am sorry to say that all over the world animals are not treated with the respect they should be. One such example is the noble bull. They drink the equivalent of a bathtub of water every day. They can see almost 360 degrees to keep them safe from predators. They can detect odours up to six miles away. Unfortunately another fact about bulls is that from time to time in the name of entertainment, they will be tormented with a red flag and forced to charge at it. The entertainment finishes when the bull dies. It is no wonder that when a bull sees such a flag he gets a look in his eye of extreme anger.   
That is the same look that Olaf held in his eyes now. As if Violet was his own red flag and the Baudelaire children the matador.   
Esme defused the situation by laying a hand on Olaf's arm.   
"Don't tell me they're still harping on about that," she laughed. "How desperately annoying for you. I've always said that children should be seen but not heard."   
Olaf smiled. "I've always said that orphans should not be seen or heard."  
"We'll stop asking when we know she's safe." Klaus said patiently. "We just want to see her ourselves."   
"Curiousity killed the cat, Baudelaire's." Esme interrupted sweetly. "You heard you father. Go away and make us something in for dinner. If it's something out I'll push you out a window. Count Olaf has been so good to provide for you miserable little wretches, you ought to thank him for keeping you alive. You only need the one of you." She looked at them expectantly. "Well go on, thank you father for keeping you alive."   
It was a sentence Klaus and Sunny had never expected to hear in their lives. A father is someone who protects you at all costs. Who loves you. Who raises you up so you can be the best you can possibly be. While a father fights for your survival, he is not someone you need to thank for not murdering you. But what choice did the Baudelaire's have?  
"Thank you." They said glumly. 

While the Baudelaire's swept the leaves from the garden path, Klaus couldn't help but mull over Esme's expression. Curiousity killed the cat. It's a fairly common expression used as a warning when people don't want your nose in their business. The threat is clear, if you go investigating we will kill you.   
Violet had to be somewhere. But where? As Klaus glanced up to the heavens as if asking for guidance, something caught his eye.   
Olaf's tower had an extra window. He was sure of it. Countless times he'd been up there to clean and now all of them shone. But one remained covered in grime. Not only that, it was a different shape to the others, circular rather than square. Now that he thought about it, the size of the rooms differed on each floor, though at the time he'd been too exhausted from cleaning to really notice.   
Curiousity killed the cat.   
What choice did he have? He had to find his sister. He had to find Violet.   
Reader, while I try to keep my own personal anecdotes short, this being the story of the Baudelaire's after all, I would like to add in something. Curiousity did not kill my cat. Esme Squalor did.


	19. Oh my reputation's kinda clouded in dirt

Not for the first time, Olaf was shoved into as he made his way to the theatre. It wasn't enough to make him stumble, just enough to add to his already growing bad mood. As he arrived he was met once more with the sight of angry protesters, glaring at him with such fury as if he'd just bitten the head off a baby. Scattered amongst the crowd were the people he'd grown up with. People far too noble to admit they were enjoying the hate spurred towards him. How had it taken him so many years to see them for what they truly were? Elitist misfits who took every available opportunity to remind the world that they were so much better than anyone else. Snobs who mocked anyone who didn't read enough or know random trivia. He knew for many it was a facade. They clung to this idea of goodness and justice as they desperately ignored the growing darkness inside their hearts.   
"You should be ashamed of yourself!" A woman cried out as she clutched a picture of his bride to her chest. "She's just a child!"  
Olaf had to hand it to her, she was a terrific actress. The tears looked real enough. He cast a glance over her face and rested on her thinning eyebrows. Clearly she'd plucked them enough to make her eyes water and give everyone a good show. It was the oldest trick in the book.   
"You'll get your just desserts in prison." A man with a toothless grimace waved his stick at him. "Men like you always get their comeuppance."   
Years ago Olaf had known a man who was far too fond of using expressions like these, and even fonder of explaining the meaning of them to people - even though they already knew what they meant! He brushed the thought of that man aside. His mood was black enough without his nemesis lurking in his head.   
The spit landing on his cheek pulled him out of his daydream. It set off a chain of events until suddenly Olaf was in the middle of the mob, punching and kicking as they tried to throw him to the floor. Thankfully his associates had seen the commotion outside and quickly hauled him into the theatre, locking the door behind him.   
There was a metallic taste in his mouth. Angrily, Olaf spat out his tooth. He'd just have to hope it wasn't obvious.   
"They got here just before you did." Fernald said grimly as he wiped the blood from his hooks. "We tried ringing ahead to warn you but you'd already left."  
"Thanks for stating the obvious." Olaf snapped. It was all the fault of those stupid Baudelaire brats. More troublesome than their parents. When he got home he'd take his anger out on Violet. The thought of that already made him feel a little better.  
"Oh darling don't fret." Esme looked ridiculous as usual. The long red velvet of her dress was pulled either side to show the underskirt revealing an actor on stage holding a skull. No doubt she thought it made her look like a serious actress.   
"They'll get bored." She slunk her arms around him and nuzzled in close. "Your marriage will be declared valid and when everyone forgets the name Baudelaire you can divorce the little chit and throw the three of them off a cliff."   
Olaf hadn't yet told Esme that he had no desire in throwing Violet off a cliff. She seemed to take great delight in all the different ways they might murder his wife. Perhaps it might be sensible to keep them apart. The thought of that was quite exciting, he mused. A mistress like Esme in the city and then his little Violet tucked away somewhere in the woods. The best of both worlds. Perhaps he'd even let the baby grow up and see if she had anything to offer. He'd need a replacement for Esme when the botox stopped working.   
"Those brats are so irritating." Esme was still talking, he tried to make an effort to listen. "You know, after you left me with them that boy came to tell me you were married to his sister. He said it like I would be shocked or something! I wish you had been there to see the look on his face when I told him I was too!" She laughed. "I can't help it if adultery is in."   
Robert came from behind the stage, his face grim.   
"Why the long face?"  
It was an old joke. Olaf had often teased Robert about his long nose. But Robert didn't seem to be in the mood for games.   
"You might want to read this." 

The Daily Punctillio can report in a shocking turn of events, that Count Olaf may be arrested once the trial into his marriage is finished. Your reporter has learned that police with handcuffs will be waiting with the defendant during the hearing. Should his marriage to Violet Baudelaire be deemed illegal, Count Olaf will be taken to prison.   
"Everyone thinks I'm just a child." Violet sobs before me, worry on her young face. "But I'm really a woman desperately in love with my husband. Please don't part us." 

Esme snatched the newspaper from him. "They can't arrest you. You've not done anything wrong. You're just after her fortune. Why does everyone have to make it sound so depraved? It's a marriage on paper only."  
When Fernald opened his mouth, a single look from Olaf advised him to close it again. Esme didn't need to know all the details just yet.   
"You're quite right." He purred, giving her a reassuring caress on the cheek. "You're the only woman for me as you know. Soon this terrible ordeal will be over and we'll both have what we want."   
"Each other?" Fernald suggested.   
"The fortune."  
"The sugar bowl."

He couldn't sleep. Esme had had to return to the city for some sort of financial thing, so he'd taken advantage of her absence and returned to his wife.   
Her long dark hair was strewn over the pillow, just as wild as he remembered her mother's. Like her mother, she moved her lips in her sleep and would occasionally whisper something he couldn't quite hear. The girl's pale face was stained with tears as if she'd cried herself to sleep. She hated him seeing her cry. It was a great entertainment to see her try to hold it in. The warmth of her body, so small beside him, was easily tempting but he didn't want to wake her up.   
His anger had been violent as he'd charged up the steps to where he'd hidden her away. The screams from the protesters still ringing in his ears as he pushed her to the ground and punched at her as if it would help. Then he'd kissed where he hurt her and enjoyed watching her try to struggle away from him.   
Ever since the marriage he'd had all sorts of vile things said about him. He'd even received death threats. People in the street would stop and announce to him that he must be the most hated man in the world. He wanted to call them out on their own dark desires. Everyone held onto something dark. Was he really so bad for acting on it?   
Acting. That was it! He would go on another tour. Go somewhere the newspapers couldn't be bothered to reach. He'd enjoy his fame once more with adoring fans. Then he'd have people to hide him if it came to it. Olaf had paid the reporters at the Daily Punctillio, he suspected security at the court house could be bought too. 

Beatrice - I am running out of things to say. Just as you have.

"Orphans, we're make a very fast departure."   
So Klaus and Sunny could see. From the look of all the suitcases in the hallway, Olaf had decided to take everything but the kitchen sink.   
"Boss? Where should we put the kitchen sink?"  
Never mind.   
"Where are you going?" Klaus asked cautiously.   
"The reviews for my play were so spectacular they've begged me to do another run." Olaf boasted, his eyes bright. "And in my grace, I have agreed."   
Have you heard the story of Pinocchio? It is a terrible tale of a man who asked for a marionette to come alive, not considering if the marionette was perfectly happy staying as an object. The marionette, or Pinocchio, has all sorts of adventures and meets all kinds of villains. Sadly, these villains finish him off after promising him a magic money tree and hang him by the neck until he dies.   
Why am I telling you of this sorry tale? Well, Pinocchio had a feature that all parents wish their children could have. Whenever he told a lie, his nose began to grow.   
Klaus Baudelaire suspected that, had Count Olaf been Pinocchio, his nose would have began to grow at an alarming rate.   
"Where Violet?" Piped up Sunny.   
"Oh stop going on about her." Esme said in disgust as she entered the room, pinching Sunny hard on the arm. Today she was wearing a dress made entirely from black feathers giving her the appearance of a rather angry crow.   
"Feathers is the new in." She announced to Klaus' raised eyebrow. "When our audience see me and my fashionable outfits, they'll be blown away."   
"Gempo." Sunny said which meant They'll be something alright. Sunny was relying less on her own language these days, but it still came in handy when you wanted to offer a sassy retort without any repercussions.   
"Behave yourselves." Esme exposed her teeth in a smile as if she were a particularly bloodthirsty vampire. "Or your lives will be ephemeral. Ephemeral means."  
"We know what it means. " Klaus interrupted. "Lasting a very short time. You don't have to keep threatening us, we get it."   
"Clearly you don't." Olaf chuckled sardonically. "Or you wouldn't keep misbehaving."   
"You should punish them more, darling." Esme looked beside herself with glee. "You could dress them up in ridiculous outfits and parade them around the street so everyone would laugh at them. Or you could tie their arms behind their backs so they have to eat dinner like a dog."  
Olaf kissed her on the head. "What a wonderful mother you would have made."   
At the look on Baudelaire children's face, Olaf rolled his eyes.  
"Your sister remains safe." He'd turned his attention to the wine bottles being packed away. "You are not to go looking for her. My associates will be keeping a close eye on you." He gestured to the white faced women who sat sulkily in the corner.   
"Why could we not go with you?" One of them complained, her bottom lip quivering as if she were a toddler.   
"We're wonderful actresses." The other agreed. "The audience will miss us."   
"And our chemistry with you." Her sister added.   
Esme's mouth pinched as she narrowed her eyes. "You're staying behind because I don't want you with us. That's the only excuse you harridans need."   
There is a story of a witch who fell in love with a wood cutter. When she learned he was in love with another, she stole his heart and turned him into a man of tin. The jealousy in her veins grew so great that she turned green. It was one of Sunny's favourite stories and she wondered now when Esme would turn that particular hue.   
The white faced women continued to scowl, but said nothing.   
"Now," Olaf straightened up and loomed over the Baudelaire's. "Will you be perfectly behaved children? Will you stay where you are? Will you stay away from that ridiculous banker and all the other strangers out there in the world?"   
As soon as Klaus and Sunny had found the date of the hearing they'd made a countdown to it on the back of their bedroom door. A scratch on the wood every day, they were getting so close. They held onto that thought now as their guardian taunted them. They had to hold onto their belief that it wouldn't be long before the court ruled in their favour and they would be rescued.   
Reader, I would like to give you another opportunity to look away. The lives of the Baudelaire orphans are harrowing and enough to give anyone nightmares. Perhaps if I had the option I would choose to read something else instead. For I can tell you that in this story, there is no happy ending.   
"We promise." Sunny announced. Despite themselves, the scowling faces of the white faced women softened slightly. With her big brown eyes and gentle blonde curls, Sunny was quickly charming hearts. It was an invaluable skill. People will never suspect you of mischief or espionage if you look adorable.   
Klaus nodded. "Yes." 

Count Olaf had informed Klaus Baudelaire that he was not to seek Mr Poe, that he was not to search for anyone who might help him and that he was not to go looking for his sister. Klaus had promised that he would not seek out Mr Poe and that he would not search for anyone who might help him. He did not promise that he would not go looking for his sister.   
Putting on his glasses, Klaus checked to see if his little sister was still sleeping. Sunny was quite safe in the land of dreams, sucking onto the corner of her blanket and looking quite peaceful. No doubt she would be cross when she found out Klaus went without her, but he didn't want to risk her getting into trouble as well. If the white faced women woke up and found him he'd claim sleepwalking.   
The pair would always drink far too much and pass out downstairs on the sofa. You could ask the elephant in the room that no one ever talks about to blow its trunk as loud as it could, and still they would not stir.   
In their room Klaus had found an old hair pin of Violet's. He'd remembered some years previously having a keen fascination in mechanics and reading all kinds of books on machines, clockwork and locks. In the end Violet had insisted on a practical lesson and they'd spent an afternoon picking locks using just a hair pin.   
She had to be in the tower. The secret room Klaus had seen when he was out in the garden. He could only hope the entrance would be easy to find.   
The tower was as untidy as ever. Papers littered the floor with dozens of old wine bottles and glasses. Dozens of maps were pinned to the wall, some circled crudely with a black marker pen and others so stained Klaus wondered why Olaf didn't just throw them away. A chest was in the corner of the room labelled Various Finery Disguises with what looked like a small old telescope on top.   
It made him freeze. He'd scarcely thought about the small metal object he carried around with him. It was only a token from the fire, the only thing they'd been able to find in the remains of their home. He took it out and compared it to the Olaf's telescope. Technically due to its size it was called a spyglass. It seemed obvious why Olaf would have one, no doubt to do some wicked deeds. But as he compared the etchings on the side, Klaus wondered why his parents had one too. And why did it match Olaf's?   
Violet. He couldn't think about insignificant things like spyglasses now. He had to think of Violet. Klaus stared at the wall of maps before him. She had to be on the other side. But there were so many maps it would take forever to unpin them all to see. Then how would he put them all back in order?   
When a wall leads to tomorrow, a knock will see that it is hollow.   
It was a nonsense rhyme his father would come out with occasionally. Bertrand had a wealth of couplets he would announce to his children and wink as they begged to know what they meant.   
"When you're older." He'd said.  
Klaus was older now. He raised his fist the wall and began knocking. The first sound was the unmistakable noise of brick. He kept going, his heart beating faster and faster until finally the sound was definitely a knock on wood.   
Knock on wood is an expression to prevent bad luck, as if touching the wood can somehow stop bad omens from heading your way. Hundreds of years ago when the pagans looked to nature to protect them from all things mysterious they would say "touch wood" if they ever felt afraid or to thank the tree for keeping them safe.   
Now we use it as a quick way to throw away misfortune before it can hit us. For example, you may say, "I'm feeling really confident about this exam. Touch wood." Or, "I've met someone new. Touch wood." Or even, "I don't think Count Olaf is following us. Touch wood."   
As Klaus knocked the wood, he hoped his sister would be on the other side of the door. He hoped she would be safe. As he reached to pull a map away, he flicked a switch and the door knob emerged as if from nowhere with a click. When his hand rested on the metal he froze.   
Skeletons in the closet.   
It was an expression he'd overheard his mother say to his father. One that had terrified him so much that he'd developed an irrational fear of his wardrobe.   
"Not real skeletons." His mother had soothed him. "Figurative skeletons. It's an expression meaning things from your past that still haunt you that you would rather keep secret."  
What secrets did Olaf have? What skeletons lurked behind the door, he could only hope they were figurative and not literal.   
Taking a deep breath he opened the door. 

The room was tiny, smaller even than the room he shared with Sunny. The wooden walls were scratched with a dozen eyes. Some precise and details, others scrawled hurriedly and drunkenly. One wall even had a long list of names, each with a scratch through. One glance was enough and he quickly looked away again. The lone window was marred with dirt so thick it blocked out most of the sunlight giving the room an even more dismal appearance. A threadbare rug was on the floor under a large double bed with an odd assortment of old blankets. With horror, Klaus saw a long dirty chain wrapped around the leg of the bed and trailing to the corner of the room finishing in a shackle around a thin ankle.   
Violet Baudelaire was huddled in the corner in a white nightgown as filthy as she was. Her pale face was gaunt and bruised and her dark eyes sunken. Even the long hair she'd once taken great pride in was lank around her frail shoulders. But for Klaus, this was not the biggest shock. It was the small bump beneath his sister's nightgown.   
"Hello, Klaus." Violet's eyes were watery as she managed a smile for him. "You're going to be an uncle."


	20. That's why you sleep with one eye open

Beatrice - Parting is such sweet sorrow

Many years ago I was in the Mortmain Mountains where temperatures can be notoriously cruel. To my great misfortune I was tied in chains and the temperature was such that my hands were shaking so badly it was difficult to get free. In the end it was my brother, with a far steadier hand than I who got me out of that scenario.   
As Klaus Baudelaire struggled with the chains, his hands also shook but it was not with the cold. It was a terrible concoction of emotions; grief, anger and fear. Grief that he had not been able to protect his sister. Anger at their terrible situation. Fear at what could happen next. The ticking in his head was back.   
Tick tock tick tock.  
"Klaus," Violet laid a hand on his. He ignored her at first, so focused in trying unwrap the chain from her ankle as if he had the brute strength to do so. "Klaus, look at me."   
When Klaus met her eyes it was like staring into the comforting ones of his mother once more. Reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.   
"It's okay." Tentatively, she reached out for him and the pair embraced, clinging onto each other as if for dear life.   
"I'm so sorry." Klaus' voice was hoarse. "Violet, please forgive me."  
She shushed him. "There's nothing to forgive. You mustn't blame yourself."   
The protruding bump was resting against him. It was hard to believe that there was a baby growing inside. His sister was so young. Far too young to be beginning the journey of motherhood. No doubt his parents would be even more appalled at this ghastly situation. That made him feel terrible. Could you ever call a baby a ghastly situation? He felt sorry for the baby. An innocent being who didn't know what a terrible life it would be born into. It made him want to whisper to his niece or nephew to stay in there for as long as they could.   
"How far along?"  
"They think maybe five months." Violet swallowed. "I've not seen a proper doctor. Olaf took me to a woman who asked me some questions, but she didn't appear to have any medical training."   
Klaus scowled. "We're not the only ones he's keeping you from then." He glanced up at her worriedly. "Is he angry at you?"  
Something flickered over Violet's face that Klaus couldn't quite make out. "He's pleased." She said eventually. "Very pleased. He has evidence that ours is a true marriage and therefore can't easily be annulled. He's going to take me along on the court date to show me off. Which court would make a fifteen year old a single mother?"   
As much as Klaus wanted to argue against it, he knew she had a point. And the adults around them didn't exactly have the best track record for thinking logically.   
"How about you?" He swallowed nervously. "How are you feeling?"  
Reader I must inform you that while I have happened across Klaus Baudelaire's journals, evidence from Violet has been far harder to come by. As we all do when we narrate our lives, we put our own thoughts and feelings at the forefront and treat those around us as secondary characters. Klaus Baudelaire was no different. His journals detail his every mood and feeling. Perhaps Violet was not willing to share her feelings with him, either way I know very little as to how the oldest Baudelaire felt in those dark difficult days.   
"I'm okay." Violet said, though Klaus could tell she was putting on a brave face. "I was sick a lot in the early days but it's stopped now. I'm just bored here, there's hardly anything to do." Glancing around Klaus had to agree. Although he'd also been frustrated by periods of boredom, at least he had Sunny to talk to. Plus all their chores kept them very busy and would occasionally mean they could talk to Olaf's associates. For Violet locked in this room, it reminded Klaus of a story his mother would tell them.   
After a man stole from a witches garden she decided to steal his baby daughter and locked her far up high in a tower. The girl never had access to a hairdresser and so her hair grew longer and longer and longer until it was used as a rope for the witch to use getting in and out of the tower. Alas, as poor Rapunzel was the source of escape she could never escape herself.   
"Have you thought of ways to escape?"  
"Klaus, I'm pregnant." Violet looked weary. "I'm too tired. I'd never get far and my escaping would jeopardise the safety of you and Sunny. He's told me a thousand times that he doesn't need either of you two alive. You're only here for my rewards for good behaviour and to be threatened if I do something he doesn't like. For the time being, we're all safe here."  
"But-"  
The look she gave him was stern, quite unlike his sister. "Wherever we go he will find us. Wherever we hide he will be waiting. Wherever we run he will always be one step ahead. There's too much at stake." She shrugged bitterly. "I've made my bed"  
You've made your bed and now you must lie in it is what judgemental people say to people who have made mistakes. For example, if you went up to bed with a large strawberry milkshake when you were explicitly told not to, and then you spilt your milkshake thus making a bed too sticky to sleep in, your guardian may say crossly "You've made your bed."  
Sometimes it can be said with a gentle firmness. A sister may tell her broken-hearted brother "You've made your bed" as he weeps for the woman he loves marrying another, even though he made the decision to fake his death and go on the lam.   
In this instance, Klaus Baudelaire did not feel that Violet Baudelaire had made her bed at all. In fact, he felt that the Baudelaire's had had their beds made for them. Beds with rusty nails pushed through the mattress and sheets infested with fleas. Why should they lie in them?  
"You didn't choose this." Klaus tried to take her hand but she flinched away. "Violet, this isn't your fault."   
"I didn't choose it but I've come to accept it." Violet glanced away from him out of the window almost as if she were willing him away. "This is my life now. I can't spend time hoping or I'll go mad. I can only make the best of whatever this is."   
When their mother had announced she was pregnant with Sunny it had been an incredibly joyous occasion. His father had thrown a party and Klaus and Violet had spent the evening being congratulated by strangers. The jubilation felt there couldn't be further from how the Baudelaire's were feeling now. While everyone knew that Sunny was going to be born into a home of loving parents and adoring siblings, never wanting for anything in life, the same could not be said for this little baby.   
"Whatever happens I'll have to acquiesce." She continued. "Acquiesce means-"  
"I know what acquiesce means." Klaus scowled. "To accept without protest. Violet, I don't even know who you are anymore."  
He'd thought that would make her sad. Perhaps she would look ashamed and apologise. Then she'd be ready to help him make a plan of what to do next. Their relationship would return to what it had been before, siblings as thick as thieves.   
Instead the dark eyes that met him looked as sharp as flint. Cold and without feeling.   
"I'm pregnant." Even her tone was cutting. "I've had to grow up. Maybe you should too."


	21. But that's the price you'll pay

Beatrice, at night I lie awake and dream of you. But you only lie in your grave. 

On with the show!  
It may conjure up an image in your mind of a theatre. Perhaps some of you may envisage a theatrical man in a top hat with an overly twirled moustache and orange hair clashing with the crimson of his coat.   
The expression can refer to a literal performance or it can just refer to life itself. It is related to the saying the show must go on, a phrase meaning that the main event must continue no matter what disaster is happening behind the scenes. You may say on with the show even though the prima ballerina has broken her leg. Or you may say on with the show when you've burned the very fancy dinner you spent a long time preparing and can now only offer a box of crackers.   
My dear Reader, I can only apologise for being so absent. My only excuse is that regrettably I am on the lam. A phrase here which means constantly having to run for your freedom. Fortunately and unfortunately I have managed to return to my sorrowful task of documenting the tragic lives of the three Baudelaire's. My escape included rusty prison bars, bread too hard to eat and a rather helpful penguin who was able to offer me a disguise. My penguin friend, if you are out there I remain indebted to you for letting me pretend to be your brother.   
Enough about me. My life is not so interesting and instead revolves around investigating the lives of three children I desperately need to find so I can raise them myself, just as their parents had intended.   
On with the show...

Sunny was refusing to see Violet. When Klaus had told her he had found their big sister she was full of excitement and took him by the hand, pulling him to take her along to see her.   
However, Klaus knew he had to tell Sunny about Violet's condition in advance. It wouldn't be fair on either of his sisters to see that thrust upon them. When he explained there was a baby in Violet's belly, Sunny was understandably confused. When he explained that the father was their wicked guardian Count Olaf, she was furious.   
I am sorry to tell you that poor Sunny had wailed until she was red in the face, tears streaming down her angry crimson cheeks as she clenched her her eyes and kicked her legs. Klaus had never seen his little sister act this way before and felt completely helpless. Little did he know that Sunny Baudelaire was also feeling helpless.   
She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Violet had decided to be a mummy to another little one. She was her Violet. Memories of their parents were fading every day for Sunny, and Violet was the closest thing she had for a mother. Sunny simply wasn't ready to share her with anyone else.   
Not only that, but Violet had chosen to have a baby with a terrible villain who wanted them killed! It felt like a hideous betrayal.   
So when Klaus would visit Violet, Sunny would stay behind and play cards with the white faced women. How the latter two hadn't realised where Klaus was disappearing to every day was beyond him.   
At each visit, Violet's ice queen persona would melt a little more and having the company again had lifted her spirits. Yet every day she would ask.  
"Where's Sunny?"  
And every day Klaus would have to lie and say the white faced women always kept her too busy and would grow suspicious if both of them went missing.   
And every day Violet would pretend to believe him.   
Sometimes Klaus would bring books so the pair could escape to other worlds where they didn't have to think about their problems for a time. He'd come across a dusty trunk full of various novels, encyclopedias and biographies. They'd come to the conclusion the collection must have belonged to someone else. They couldn't imagine Count Olaf having the slightest interest in reading.   
Violet was absorbed in Anna Karenina while Klaus was reading a book he'd normally stayed away from.   
"Did you know the baby is roughly the size of a mango?"   
The siblings hadn't spoken about the baby since Klaus had first discovered Violet. For Klaus he was too embarrassed, and for Violet it seemed like the idea was too draining to spend time thinking about. However to his relief she looked curious.   
"A mango?"   
Klaus nodded and pointed to the page. "Next month it will be about the size of red cabbage."   
"Does it say anything about backache?" She grimaced. "It's been terrible. I've hardly slept."   
"As your baby develops you may experience backache, indigestion and an increased in appetite." Klaus read. "Some women may even experience swollen hands and feet."  
Violet wrinkled her nose. "I hope not."   
He waited her for to say something else, but she'd returned to her book.   
"Violet," he began cautiously. "It may be helpful for you to start getting ready for this baby."   
His sister stayed hidden behind the book. "I still have time."   
"That time is getting shorter by the day." He swallowed. "Before you know it the baby will be here. Do you even know what to do in labour?"   
There was a pause. "No." He heard his sister admit. "Please, Klaus. Enough. I don't want to talk about it any more."   
They had been sitting opposite ends of the room. Klaus crossed legged on the floor and Violet curled up on one of the blankets. She never sat on the bed. He wandered over to her and sat down.   
"You're the best chance this baby has." Klaus said bluntly. "I can't see Count Olaf doing anything difficult. It's in your best interests to be prepared too. If you know what to do it won't be so scary."   
"Of course it will be scary." Violet whispered from behind the book. It sounded like she was crying. "Klaus, I'm about to become a mother at fifteen years old with a man I hate. But it's not the knowing what to do that scares me."  
"What is it then?"  
Violet lowered the book, her eyes swimming with tears. "I'm scared I won't love this baby." She said honestly, her bottom lip trembling. "I'm scared that when I look down at it I'll just feel loathing and hate because of who it's father is. I'm scared it will have a terrible life because I'm unable to love it."   
Klaus Baudelaire was a remarkably intelligent boy, thanks in part to the many books he had read. As such, very often he knew the answers to all sorts of very difficult questions. I'm sorry to say that in this instance, this was not the case. 

The following day he'd left Sunny experimenting with cooking in the kitchen and began the long climb up to the tower. Perhaps he shouldn't have left a baby to her own devices in a kitchen, but he trusted her enough to be sensible.   
Violet asked her usual. "Where's Sunny?"  
And he responded with his usual. "The white faced women have kept her busy."  
And as usual Violet pretended to believe him.   
He wasn't prepared to carry on the conversation they'd had yesterday. Klaus still felt completely hopeless when it came to offering his sister any advice or reassurance. He could only hope that something in a book might inspire a suitable response.   
"That was certainly tragic." Violet set the book down. "She died for love."  
Klaus wrinkled his nose. "I thought Tolstoy wrote it as a warning?"   
"I suppose so. But-" She froze suddenly, her eyes wide with shock.   
Instinctively Klaus turned around, expecting to see Count Olaf standing there. But it was just the same empty space.   
"What is it?"  
"The baby is kicking." Violet breathed. Her hands softly went over the bump blossoming under her nightgown. "I can feel it moving."   
Her cheeks were flushed pink but she didn't look upset. She looked happy. Her dark eyes which had been so wide with fear were now wide with amazement as life grew inside her. Klaus could only remember a few years ago when his mother had felt Sunny kicking for the first time. He remembered her laughing in delight and calling for their father.   
"Come here." Violet spoke softly, as if not wanting to startle the baby. "Come and feel."   
In Klaus' life there were a few precious moments he would never forget. There was the first time he read aloud to his parents in the sitting room and beaming with pride as they whooped and cheered for him. There was the time he beat his father at chess. There was the time he felt his niece or nephew kick.   
"I'm so frightened." He heard his sister confess.   
At first he assumed she was talking to him, but that did not seem to be the case. He took her hands in his.   
"I'll get us all out of here." He promised. "Count Olaf will never get us."   
Those doleful eyes had returned. "He's the baby's father." She said sadly. "Even if they do annul this marriage, he can claim parental responsibility. There'll be nothing I can do."

As Klaus was trying to get the grime off the taps in the downstairs bathroom, he heard the shuddering scream of a car engine and the piercing shriek of the wheels skidding onto the driveway.  
Count Olaf had returned.   
Sunny glanced up at him worriedly. "Iamquid?" What now?  
"I don't know." Klaus said honestly as he wiped his greasy hands on the old rag. "But I'm going to confront him about Violet. Father always said you can't plan properly if you don't know what your opponent is thinking."  
"Zugzwang"  
I wouldn't blame you for thinking that this was yet another one of Sunny Baudelaire's made up words. However, the youngest Baudelaire was actually referring to a situation in chess, a game which the youngsters would frequently play with their parents. Zugzwang is when it is your turn to move but every option puts you at a disadvantage. In the rules of the game you are compelled to move and cannot pass your turn, therefore you must try and predict which of the damaging options will cause the least amount of damage long term.   
The trouble with Count Olaf is that he is a man of an extremely unpredictable nature and has been since he was a small boy. His moods change so frequently they can never be patterned and planned for. I have only known one woman to truly hold him in her grasp.   
"Orphans fetch me an Aqueous martini!" The shrill voice of Esme Squalor echoed through the house.   
The woman I was thinking of was not Esme Squalor.   
As Klaus and Sunny hurried to the kitchen and began to prepare the drinks, Klaus tried to consider all the different things he could say. There was no use appealing to his good side, because Klaus wasn't even convinced he had a good side.   
"Oh love of my life, you were miraculous." They heard Esme say to Olaf in the lounge. "A real defining point in your career I think."   
"I agree." The smooth drawl of Olaf made the hairs on the back of Klaus' neck stand up. "And when I have the fortune my fame will only rise further."  
"Oh darling," it sounded like she was pouting. "I've told you. You don't need a fortune, you have mine! I'm the richest woman in the city. I have so much money I don't know what to do with it. Who needs another fortune when we could be going after the sugar bowl? Forget about the brats fortune and throw them down a well."  
"My little turtledove." Olaf cooed as Sunny mimed being sick. "You wouldn't ask me to do that to my little wifey now, would you?"  
Esme's tone which had been nauseatingly twee changed to as brittle as bone. "She's not really your wife, Olaf." She snapped. "On a piece of paper, nothing more. That's what you said. Less even than Jerome and I."   
As Olaf made shushing noises, Esme screamed out for the Aqueous martinis and the younger Baudelaire's hurried in.   
Not for the first time, Klaus wondered if it were possible for a couple to grow in looking more devious and wicked every day. Each wore a rather severe looking pinstripe suit more suited to 1920's gangsters. The pair were draped over the sofa as if they had done something terribly exhausting while Olaf's troupe busied themselves unpacking the suitcases.   
"Here!" Sunny held up the glasses.   
Olaf took a swig and promptly spat it out. "What the hell is this?"  
Esme looked appalled. "An Aqueous martini, dearest. The innest drink all around. If you want to be rich and famous like me, you better get used to drinking them. Until they're out that is."   
"They taste just like water." Olaf grumbled.   
"Aqueous means water." Klaus volunteered.   
The nefarious couple turned to look at him as if he were a rather inconvenient piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe, which they would rather like to hack off with a carving knife.   
Klaus decided to go in for the kill first.   
"I've seen Violet."   
Esme barely registered what he said, focusing instead of the olives in her glass. But Count Olaf had gone a little pale.   
"I hope she's stopped that wailing." Esme commented. "It kept me awake."  
"I'll have her gagged if she starts again." Olaf had recovered as he purred at Esme. "Anything to make my sweetheart sleep better."   
"I know you got her pregnant."   
There was a pregnant pause is a very useful expression to use here. The term does not mean a pause is pregnant as this would be impossible, nor does it mean the pause has to relate to pregnancy, it can be related to all sorts of things. Instead it refers to a great length of time before someone speaks again.   
There was a pregnant pause.   
The henchpeople were still bent over their tasks, but suddenly frozen as they waited to eavesdrop.   
Olaf also seemed to be frozen. He reminded Klaus of a snake. A blank face masking a mind that is getting ready to strike. His amber eyes had darkened to a sharp black onyx, hiding his calculations.   
It was Esme Squalor that broke the silence.   
Her bottom lip trembled as she rose from her seat. "What?" The woman's eyes seemed to bulge out of her head until she managed to compose herself. "Orphan, don't be absurd." She scoffed. "A life of villainy may be in but orphans lying to their superiors certainly isn't in."  
"It's a good job I'm telling the truth then." Klaus said fiercely. "Violet's pregnant."   
Two red dots had appeared on Esme's cheeks as her jaw clenched. "Well then the little slut has been sneaking around." She turned to Olaf. "Really darling, you ought to have been keeping a better eye on her. This could jeopardise you getting your hands on their fortune."   
"I think Count Olaf's been keeping too close an eye on Violet." Klaus said nastily.   
It was difficult for Sunny Baudelaire to describe how she felt about Esme Squalor. It reminded her of a story of a man who sat on the roof of his house as the world flooded around him. Every time he was offered help he would arrogantly refuse and laugh cruelly in their face, yet you could see the desperation in his eyes until he eventually drowned. Seeing Esme fight off her fears was immensley satisfying, but it is never nice watching someone drown. No matter how unpleasant they are.   
"Darling." Her tone was clipped. Short. "Discipline the brats. Hit them. Strike them. Don't let them talk to us like this."   
Olaf didn't even look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Klaus.   
He could see Esme wavering. Her skin was flushed and she began to tremble. As her face began to wobble it was like the mask of the beautiful woman was falling apart. Tears clung to her lashes, threatening to spill.   
"It's not true." She whispered. "I know it's not true, Olaf. This isn't a real marriage. You said you'd never touched her."   
"On the contrary." Olaf lightly batted her away and moved to pour himself some whiskey. "You presumed. I never said I hadn't touched the girl. I never said I wouldn't."  
Esme's mouth opened in a horrified o as she wiped her eyes, leaving behind a horrible smudge of black mascara down her cheeks. To Sunny she looked like a rather distraught clown.   
"How could you?" She looked like she wanted to be sick.   
Olaf threw back the shot. "It's not cheating if it's with your wife."   
"How could you?" Esme staggered back to the sofa and sunk down as if she were melting. "How could you? She's a child! A child!"  
"Orphans, get lost." Olaf shot them a glare as he poured another glass. "Go to your sister for all I care. You know now. We won't have a need to keep her hidden any more."   
To Esme his tone was softer, crooning as he knelt beside her. The woman was a far cry from the beautiful sophisticated and cruel creature the Baudelaire children were used to seeing. Her bleached blonde hair had fallen down from its ornate style and stuck to her tearstained face. The pristine make-up she had applied that morning was now so badly smudged she looked like a Picasso. But above all that, Esme Squalor no longer held herself up with pride. She looked like a puppet with its strings cut. Broken.   
"Oh my sweet Esme. You know how precious you are to me. My lovely student. My beloved. My absolute treasure. Don't make a scene. I don't like it when people make scenes."  
Esme hiccuped. "D-don't leave m-me, Olaf. I - I c-couldn't b-bear it a-again."   
He took her shaking hand and kissed it. "I won't make that mistake again, my beauty. You're mine. Don't you worry."   
Yet everyone in that house was worried. The hook-handed man worried for his sister who he'd not heard from in a very long time. The white faced women worried about the store closing down that stocked their make-up. Klaus worried that his sisters would never be safe. Sunny worried that they would never escape and she would never grow up in safety and comfort.   
As for Esme Squalor, she worried about Olaf's relationship with a young girl and how similar it was to one he'd had years ago. How he'd charmed a young girl to fall hopelessly in love with him. How, even after all these years, she was still that same young girl.   
But, as they say, the show must go on.


	22. I said hey

It had been so easy. The baby had still been asleep when Fernald has snuck into the room ready to put her in the cage. It wasn't really necessary to have her gagged and bound, but it added quite the dramatic flair which he'd appreciated.   
Certainly the brat's older siblings had fallen for it. The boy going so red in the face Olaf wondered if he'd explode. He really was a puffed up little snob. It had been quite delicious to put out the little fantasy the bookworm had in his head. No doubt he'd thought Olaf would roll over once his plan had been found out. Oh, child you have so much to learn.   
However, while the boy had taken the baby's capture as a personal insult, Olaf could see that Violet was quite different. Behind her eyes he could see the cogs whirring in her brain as she frantically tried to work her way out of this. It was the same look he'd seen many times in her father's eyes. He wondered if he'd had that look before he died.   
Everything was slotting into place.   
"You will do as I say to avoid the punishment of the loss of your sister." He nodded up towards the frightened infant. "And because you want the reward of a charming husband."   
Olaf wasn't surprised when Violet cringed away from him in disgust. He quite enjoyed it actually. Pushing the bookworm out of the way, he pressed himself closer to her. "Come now," he whispered. "Would it be so terrible to be my bride? To live in my house for the rest of your life?"   
The cogs behind her eyes were slowing down as she began to realise he had her helplessly backed into a corner. Violet kept her gaze determinedly up at her baby sister as if not looking at him would make this all just a bad dream. It wasn't a dream. They were there together, flesh against flesh and he couldn't wait for his plan to succeed. A fortune rightfully his and a beautiful bride in his grasp. Revenge would be sweet.   
"You're such a lovely girl." He murmured softly as he wrapped a hand in her hair, breathing in her scent as she trembled. He pulled her hair back so the nape of her neck was exposed, he longed to bite it. "After the wedding I wouldn't dispose of you like your brother and sister."   
She'd had to agree. The girl was far too noble to put her brother and sister at risk, even if their lives after the marriage were uncertain. If she'd said no he would have dragged her onstage kicking and screaming if he had to and put it down to stage fright. 

It was Claudine who'd raised the matter. With beady eyes underneath all that hideous make-up, she never missed a trick.   
"The girl has been throwing up for weeks now." She'd said bluntly to him as he poured over blueprints. "Not only that, she spends most of her time either looking she's going to fall asleep or burst into tears. You know what that means."  
It certainly hadn't been the plan for the little chit to get herself pregnant. It hadn't been the first time something like this had happened. His routine was to book an appointment, give her the money and send the slut on her way never to be seen or thought of again. Obviously he couldn't do that to his wife, particularly one who he was trying to convince the world he was legally married to. Olaf had no paternal instincts whatsoever, yet this could be a very fortunate event.   
He found her hanging over the toilet bowl, her pale face slick with sweat and tears. The long dark hair he so loved was in the way so he held it back and patiently waited for her to finish. The girl had tensed when she saw him, but she was clearly so exhausted she just gave in and let him assist her.   
When she'd finished, he wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. "You know what this means." He said matter of factly.   
Tears continued to pour down her cheeks as she shook her head in denial, fighting what she knew to be true.   
"When were you planning on telling me?"   
"I'm not." Her chest heaved as she limply tried to get away from him. "I'm just unwell. Mother said they could stop if you were sick or lost weight. I've not been eating properly. I-"   
Olaf wondered how her vain mother would have felt, had she been alive, upon learning she was to be a grandmother. The thought made him smile.   
"Well if you are sick," he cooed, "as your husband I must see to it that you are well. We're off to see someone."   
She struggled against him as he hauled her to her feet by her slim wrists. "Please don't. I just need to lie down for a while. Please, I'm fine."   
The smile she gave reminded him so much of her mother. Deceptive little minx.   
"Oh no I insist." He continued loudly over her protests. "Come along little one, let's go and see what's wrong with you." 

Of course he couldn't take her to a doctor. He had to play this carefully. As a teenager, Violet would instantly be referred to some idiot from child welfare and subsequently whisked away from him. No, he had to play this very carefully indeed.   
Instead he'd taken her to Mama Carmenta, the old stooped wise woman of his youth. Mama Carmenta was more creature than woman, an odd little thing like a goblin. No higher than his elbow and with grey hair stuck out at every angle as if she'd stuck her finger in a socket. As a child Olaf had seen that even her wrinkles had wrinkles and wondered if she was hundreds of years old. Now he wondered how she was still alive. Mama Carmenta had been a mentor of sorts to his mother. A healer who also read fortunes and claimed the gift of sight. With her pale misty blue eyes it was almost believable. She looked so frail you'd imagine a feather could push her over and yet she had a tongue sharper than steel. Violet had shyed away from her and received a hard slap on her cheek before being dragged off to the next room.   
When they emerged half an hour later, Violet was crying. Mama Carmenta wagged a gnarled hand at him.   
"She's too scrawny." She spat on the floor. "Too young. Her hips will break." As if to prove her point, she hit Violet with her stick.   
Olaf shushed the pair of them smoothly. "Yes, yes. How much?"   
The amount was eye-watering but it didn't matter. He'd steal the money back later. The old hag was demented and kept any money stuffed in a flowerpot by the window.   
The walk back to the car was silent. Olaf kept a tight grip on Violet's elbow in case she tried anything. They were far from anyone who could possibly help her, but he couldn't be bothered chasing a teenager through the woods. Not today anyway.   
When he forced her onto the seat her lip began to wobble.   
"You want me to get rid of it." She whispered, her hands curled into fists.   
Violet jumped to see him laugh.   
"Good god no." He wheezed. "This is a very fortunate development. If I wanted you to get rid of it I would have sent Mama Carmenta in after you with a coat hanger."  
The picture made her flinch. Her brow furrowed in confusion.   
"Do you want to be a father?"   
Olaf rolled his eyes. "Of course not. But this thing in your belly is just what we need to validate our marriage to the courts." He smiled at her and stroked a tear from her cheek. "It proves we are husband and wife in the fullest sense, they can't get an annulment for us. They would have to petition for divorce. And what kind of court would allow a fifteen year old girl to become a single mother? Particularly one who is so hopelessly in love with her husband."   
He smacked her across the face when she told him she hated him.   
"I'll allow your outburst as I know it was just your hormones." He seethed. "But I promise you this, orphan, I am not a patient man. If you do anything to disrupt this trial, I will see to it that your siblings are killed in the most gruesome, horrific and prolonged way possible. I will cut off their fingers one by one. I will peel the skin from their faces. I will make you watch them burn. You need only stand there with a big belly and insisting that you love me. Is that quite clear?" 

Beatrice, I am running out of things to say  
Just as you ran out of air

When he was alive, the Baudelaire's father had a great love for music. He could always be heard whistling, humming or singing along to a tune. His favourite was Between the devil and the deep blue sea. The song follows a man who has been left broken hearted by a woman he once loved, now left unsure whether he wants to be with her.   
The expression comes from an old pirates tale. In a storm the devil would come aboard and offer the crew a chance to live, they need only give their souls to him. The alternative was to jump into the sea, into the great unknown. Neither were particularly wonderful options and instead evoked terror. It was like choosing between a death of fire or of ice.   
For Klaus Baudelaire, he felt like he was making a decision between the devil and the deep blue sea.   
The devil was Count Olaf. He was a wicked man of fire and fury. Life with him would not be happy and his life would always be at risk.   
The deep blue sea was the man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard. No doubt they were also wicked people. He could not predict how life would be with them.   
Winter had come early. The last leaf had fallen from the tree and Klaus Baudelaire was out of time. The man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard were demanding their answer. If he remained with Olaf, Sunny would be in danger. If he left Olaf...well, he wasn't sure what would happen to Violet. In the end he rationalised that staying only trapped them further. Leaving was a sort of freedom and he could aim to return for his sister. And so it was decided that Klaus would join them at the end of the year with Sunny following a year or so after that. When he told Violet he could see the sadness in her eyes, but she reassured him that he'd made the right decision. 

It was decided that the older Baudelaire children be present at the court hearing. Sunny would remain at home under the careful watch of the white faced women and the wart faced man. They were explicitly reminded time and time again that if they did anything to disrupt the case, Sunny would suffer.   
My research tells me that the hook handed man had volunteered to guard the youngest Baudelaire but had been refused. To this day I wonder if the series of events would have been different had he been allowed.   
Klaus Baudelaire was to watch the case in the public gallery with the henchperson of indeterminate gender. At least he wouldn't be tormented by them he mused. He wondered why they did not speak. As someone who knows the person in question, I can tell you it is because they believe that the world would be a far better place if people were wise enough to keep their mouths shut from time to time. Occasionally I am inclined to agree with them.   
Violet was sat beside the bald man with the long nose on the benches ready to be called as a witness. Her eyes were closed as if she were trying to block out this whole sorry experience.   
If you have ever kept hens you will know that these birds are the most gossipy birds you will ever lay your eyes on. They cluck amongst each other over every small detail and stare at you with their beady eyes and sharp beaks until you feel so overwhelmed you just dump their feed and run. For the Baudelaire's, the court room felt like a chicken coop and when they saw Violet enter with her hand resting on the swell of her belly they descended into gossip. As Klaus watched them he saw that it was like a game of Chinese whispers.  
Chinese whispers is a game sometimes played at parties in a desperate attempt to liven things up. You stand in a line and pass a phrase down the line by whispering in someone's ear. There is great hilarity when at the end of the line the phrase is nothing like how it started.   
While this is fun at parties, in real life it can have devastating consequences. The Baudelaire's had already had their fair share of misery and couldn't bear the thought of any more mishaps caused by a misunderstanding.   
"Klaus!" He was embraced by Justice Strauss before he'd even realised who it was. Though she smiled reassuringly at him, her face was full of concern and there were lines of worry etched into her face. "Are you alright?"   
Klaus was not dead, dying or terribly sick. Therefore he chose to give a quick nod. After all, he was being watched.   
"Your poor sister." Justice Strauss had tears in her eyes. "That poor girl. I'll never be able to forgive myself."   
The henchperson of indeterminate gender appeared to be in a daydream. "Just declare the marriage invalid." Klaus said earnestly. "Let him say his piece and then overrule him."   
Justice Strauss raised her hands gently. "Klaus, I would but I am not the judge of this case. It was decided that as I was also involved in the prosecution I could not be an impartial judge." His heart sank. "But my colleagues are wonderful people." She continued brightly. "I've known them for years and they've been most interested in your terrible plight. I can assure you, Klaus. They will see to it that you are brought to safety."   
Assurances and promises are unfortunately not the same thing. A promise is an unbreakable vow that one will do something or that a particular thing might happen. For example, a father may promise his son that he will receive a bicycle for Christmas, because he already has the bicycle locked safely away and there are no thieves nearby.   
An assurance is not a promise, nor is it a lie. It is merely telling someone something with such positivity because they believe it to be true. For example, a father may assure is son that he will receive a bicycle for Christmas, because it's only Christmas Eve and the shops are bound to still be open.   
I did not receive a bicycle that Christmas.   
"It is possible you may be called as a witness too." Justice Strauss placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I would rather spare you from the lawyers questioning, but it may be needed. Just remember, honesty is the best policy."   
The expression honesty is the best policy comes from a rather obscure village I hope you never have the misfortune to enter. At the mayoral elections some years ago, each candidate had three vastly different extreme policies. One was to only eat ice-cream and nothing else. Another was to punish any crime by fire no matter how small. The third was to be honest at all times, even if it meant you were being rude. The town decided that out of that sorry bunch, honesty was the best policy.   
What I am trying to say, is that while honesty is a wonderful trait and should be very much encouraged, sometimes you will be put into situations where it is not practical.   
More on that later.   
As Justice Strauss dashed off to sit with the prosecution, Klaus craned his neck to look at the wicked man who was his guardian.   
As usual he was prancing around, revelling in all the attention and enthusiastically posing for photos for the Daily Punctillio. When Olaf pulled Violet to her feet and placed his hands on her protruding belly, the court room collapsed into a sigh of  
"Awwwhhh!"  
It was infuriating. Klaus wanted Violet to push him away. He wanted her to scream that her husband was cruel and plead for help. But she wouldn't do that for the same reason he wouldn't.   
Sunny was at the mercy of their behaviour.   
Instead Violet kept her face impassive, not even the slightest smile for the cameras. It was the most rebellious thing she could do.   
"All rise."   
This was it. As an incredibly smart boy, Klaus had known since he was very small how a court of law worked. He knew that when they announced all rise, what they were really saying was someone honourable is coming to deliver justice and save the day. He could feel his heart lifting. Judges were clever and would see right through Olaf's lies. They would see that Violet's testimony was forced. They would see to it that the marriage was declared invalid and that Klaus and his sisters would be rescued.   
Reader, I earnestly encourage you, with as much persuasion a heartbroken man on the lam can muster, to end your time with the Baudelaire's here. Let you go to sleep at night believing that the Baudelaire's now sleep peacefully under the care of people who love them. I cannot promise you the happy ending you crave. So look away.   
Klaus turned towards the doors, ready to gaze upon his saviour. Instead he was met with the most horrendous sight.   
In judges robes stood the man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard.   
It felt like his heart had stopped beating. No matter how convincing the case was against Count Olaf, he would win. But as Klaus opened his mouth to cry out, he felt someone grab his shoulder.   
"Say a word," the snarl threatened. "And I'll let them know you're happy for the biting brat to be thrown to the flames. And I'll be sure to let your sister know it was all your fault."   
Klaus glanced down at Violet. The bald man with the long nose had his arm round her waist in what appeared to be a supportive gesture. But from the angle Klaus was at, he could see the flash of silver pointing at her back. She was just as frozen as he was.   
Olaf was looking up at him, his wild amber eyes dancing in victory. Once more, Klaus felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

"How could I know?" Olaf was reclining against the bar, his hand brought to his brow as if he might faint. "How could I possibly have known that I would fall in love? After spending so many years in heartbreak, I swore it would never happen and then one day," he paused for dramatic effect. "It did."   
Klaus felt his stomach churn as the jury cooed at him.   
"What would you say," the man with the beard but no hair's voice was soft. "To the allegations that you groomed Violet Baudelaire?"   
Count Olaf clutched his hand to his chest as if in a fit of passion. "Did I groom Violet?" He flashed her a winning smile. "Or did she groom me? Was it not her who stole my heart, making me risk everything for her? I have so much to lose from all of this. Would I really risk it all if I wasn't hopelessly under her spell?"   
Alongside him in the rows Klaus could hear people murmuring in agreement. How could people be taken in so easily?   
"Objection." Justice Strauss stood up fiercely. "I would remind the court that Violet Baudelaire is a minor. It has already been established that she was unaware that the marriage was going to take place due to its dishonesty of being presented as a play."  
"It was a surprise for her." Olaf sniffed. "She was thrilled."   
"As her legal guardian you had a duty of care towards her." Justice Strauss continued. "Instead you have got this poor child pregnant -"  
"You'll find that I am her husband." Olaf's eyes went dark. "If you were concerned about that happening perhaps you should have called for this case sooner. Besides," his winning smile returned as he went over to Violet. "You are delighted aren't you, my love?"   
Violet kept her eyes on the floor. "Yes." She said dully.   
"You see." Olaf purred. "Would you really make a fifteen year old girl a single mother by sending the father to prison? Who would look after her and the baby? She'd be helpless alone. Don't forget, as well as her husband I am also her legal guardian. Would this court really make this baby a bastard just to make a point?"  
"They should be allowed to be together!" A voice called out from the public gallery.   
"True love has no bounds!" Cried another.  
"Don't send a father to prison!"  
"Has anyone seen my goldfish?"  
"Silence in the court!" The woman with the hair but no beard shouted. "I believe we have heard enough. This case has dominated the papers for months and its high time we start focusing on something else."   
"The price of fuel!"  
"The string of murders we've had!"  
"Pinstripes are out!"  
"My missing goldfish!"  
"Please, your honour." Justice Strauss had gone pale. "Could we call Violet Baudelaire to the stand?"   
"My Countess is having a difficult pregnancy." Olaf interjected smoothly. "Speaking puts a lot of strain on her and the baby. I'm sure you wouldn't suggest something that could harm the child?"   
There were hisses from the crowd.   
"Of course not." Justice Strauss said firmly. "And Violet may raise her hand whenever she feels too tired to continue. But having heard so much from you, I really do think its important we have her side of the story."   
To Klaus' surprise, Olaf shrugged nonchalantly. However, as he led Violet over to the stand he could see how tight he was gripping her hand.   
As his sister sat there, Klaus could see the cogs whirring in her mind as if she were trying to think of a plan.   
"State to the court who you are." The woman with the hair but no beard barked, pulling Violet from her train of thought.  
"I'm Violet Baudelaire."  
"Countess." Olaf corrected.   
Violet didn't react and kept her eyes on Justice Strauss who smiled at her encouragingly.   
"You may take a break whenever you feel you need to." She said kindly. "Now Violet, could you remind the court how old you are?"  
"Fifteen."  
"And how old were you when you were married?"  
"Fourteen."   
"Were you aware that your marriage would be considered legally binding? Or did you believe that you were just participating in a play?"   
The Baudelaire's had known full well that Olaf had planned to marry Violet for real and not just in a play. However, if Violet were to say that she would have to explain that Sunny had been held captive in a cage. And if she said that Sunny once again would suffer.   
"I didn't know." Violet said cautiously, glancing quickly at Olaf. "I thought it was just a play."   
"And are you happily married?" Justice Strauss nodded encouragingly at her once more. "Do you love your husband?"  
The court waited with baited breath. Old Mrs Wilson, who had brought her sewing with her, dropped one of her pins and you heard the sound of metal hitting the stone slab of the floor.   
Everything was riding on this. Although the judges were associates of Olaf's, surely they knew that if Violet said no the audience would rise up in her defence, making declaring the marriage valid very difficult.   
Klaus felt something sharp against his throat. But the court only had eyes for Violet. Only she could see what was happening to him. Only she knew of Sunny in the clutches of wicked people, ready to kill her if they received the orders. The three Baudelaire's were entirely alone in the world. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.   
As Violet said it for the second time, Klaus' heart sank.   
"I do." 

As the car jolted through the streets, skidding round corners and hurtling over potholes, Klaus Baudelaire felt sick.   
If you were particularly inclined to travel sickness, this combined force of speed and uneven road would no doubt result in your face going green and throwing up in a brown paper bag. Travel sickness is a terrible condition that could be eased if only people built better roads or didn't drive like lunatics. Klaus was currently experiencing a lunatic driver, so you really couldn't blame him for travel sickness in this instance.  
However, Klaus Baudelaire was not suffering with travel sickness.  
Reader, you may find this very familiar. I am sorry to tell you that this has all happened before and it will happen a third time. In this instance, the reason why Klaus Baudelaire feels sick is because the judges had declared the marriage between Count Olaf and Violet Baudelaire legal and binding.   
They were trapped.   
Klaus was squashed in the backseat beside the henchperson of indeterminate gender with his sister sitting on the other side. Her skin had gone grey and she too looked like she might be sick.   
"Mine!" Olaf was crowing at the wheel. "It's finally mine! After months of waiting for what was rightfully mine, I have it in grasp! The Baudelaire fortune and revenge."   
"What are you going to do with the brats now?" The bald man with the long nose asked from the passenger seat.   
"The bookworm is off to school." Olaf said dismissively as if Klaus' wasn't there. "And the biting brat will follow him in a year. If she gets any more irritating another arrangement will be made."   
"What about the girl?" The bald man with the long nose stared at Violet. She didn't seem to notice, so lost in her own thoughts. "I could take her off your hands."  
"I've told you, she's mine." Olaf snarled. "You're talking about my wife and future mother of my child. Show some respect."   
The car pulled up on the driveway. Klaus turned to Violet but she was already getting out of the car.   
"What about the baby?" She asked quietly, her eyes downcast. She looked exhausted. "We need to get ready for when the baby comes."   
Olaf smirked as he patted her on the head. "Have no fear, little one. With that enormous fortune I'm sure we can find some money to make a room for when the baby comes. That is," he leaned in to her. "If you're on your best behaviour?"   
Violet met his gaze frowning. "What do you mean?"   
Olaf's smile spread further into a devious grin. "Well, Countess, I am allowing you to have this baby as a reward for good behaviour. That baby in your belly is my future leverage."  
Violet looked afraid. "What do you mean?"  
Her husband tutted. "Everyone keeps telling me how bright you are, but really you're very stupid. You will be the perfect wife for me, or I will snatch our child from your arms and any other children we will have. If you are bad, I will take your children from you and hide them where you will never see them again. Do I make myself clear?"  
Klaus caught her before she hit the ground.


	23. Chapter 23

Beatrice  
If we are both dead, then how I am so far away from you?

TRUE LOVE WINS THE DAY

After months of turmoil, Count Olaf and his bride finally have the answer they've been waiting for. The marriage is legal and binding.   
"Of course it was such a worrying time for us." The handsome Count confides in me. "We were so afraid we were going to be parted. I love my countess more than anything in the world. We truly are Romeo and Juliet."   
"I was afraid that they would force me to raise my baby without a father." Violet has tears in her eyes as she places a hand on the swell of a stomach where the pairs first child is growing. "So afraid that my child would be born to a world of shame, born out of wedlock. It felt so hopelessly unfair."  
Her husband shushes her gently and puts his hand on hers. As they nuzzle noses together I truly believe I've never seen a more affectionate couple.   
Count Olaf will grace the stage again once his baby is born. Theatre is in his blood after all and he has been mentioned favourably in several small scale theatrical reviews. It is a relief that this handsome actor will not be away from us for too long.   
"But until my child is born I will be with my wife." Count Olaf kisses her with great affection. "Now that I have her, I'll make sure she never leaves my sight again."

The newspaper is thrown on the breakfast table accompanied by the snarl of the city's sixth most important financial advisor.   
"What the hell is this?"   
As was usual in the household, Count Olaf was nursing a particularly nasty headache caused by the the consumption of too much alcohol the night before. The Baudelaire's crept around him like mice, afraid of waking the violent cat that dominated their lives.   
Esme Squalor had no such fear.   
"Well?" She demanded again. "Explain?"  
Count Olaf cast an uninterested glance over the article. "Oh that."   
"Yes that." Esme seethed. "Right here. I love my countess more than anything in the world. How do you suppose that makes me feel? I left my husband for you!"  
Olaf raised his eyebrow. "You hated Jerome."   
Esme rolled her eyes. "That's hardly the point."   
Years ago the Baudelaire's had believed you only got married for love. However a recent series of unfortunate events had caused them to learn that sometimes that was not always the case.   
You might marry someone because you are particularly fond of their limited edition smoothie maker.   
You might marry someone if you discovered that he had inherited several underground tunnels and was quite oblivious to their true purpose.   
You might marry someone with the intention of stealing their enormous fortune and revenge on two people who lie cold in their graves.   
"It's publicity, Esme." Olaf brushed her aside. "You know that. Plus I got to mention my next theatrical tour." He grinned at her. "Of which you'll be the leading actress."   
Normally Esme Squalor was a fantastically independent woman full of strength, ambition and determination. However, Klaus had noticed that when it came to Olaf she had a habit of melting in his palm.   
"Oh really?" She simpered. "Me?"   
"Of course." Olaf crooned, pulling her onto his lap. "My dove."   
Behind them Sunny Baudelaire mimed to Klaus that she was going to be sick. He hid his smile.   
Unfortunately this picture of domestic bliss was interrupted when Violet entered the room. So far Olaf had succeeded in keeping the two apart and their paths had not yet crossed.   
Seeing the look on Esme's face, Klaus could understand why.   
The woman almost seemed to crackle with electricity, her face twisting into one of hatred and envy. As she looked over Violet's bump, she jolted like she'd been slapped in the face.   
Klaus and Sunny glanced at Count Olaf, wondering if he would intervene and separate the pair. Instead he had adopted the look of a rather smug lion expecting to see two lionesses fight over him.   
Esme rose from his lap and made her way over to Violet. "So you're Violet Baudelaire."   
The three Baudelaire children had not only been raised to be kind and intelligent, they were also raised to have impeccable manners. A phrase here which means greeting a disgusting villain in a pleasant manner even though you'd rather slap them.   
"Good morning Mrs Squalor." Violet said politely as she offered her hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you."  
You'll remember that I have said previously that honesty is not always the best policy.   
Esme declined the handshake, instead sneering at the young girl before her. "What a shame I can't return such a pleasure. I wasn't aware all orphans stank. You smell just like your siblings. Like smoke and ash."   
Klaus and Sunny scowled, but Violet managed to keep a perfectly calm composure.   
"How clever you are Mrs Squalor." She said serenely. "I suppose I better go and have a bath. I guess I just didn't smell myself, having a far smaller nose than yours."   
Esme Squalor had always prided herself on her exceptionally long fingernails which she enjoyed sharpening into claws. As she struck Violet, these claws dug into her face leaving a trail of blood.   
Klaus leapt to his feet ready to intervene, but Olaf got there first. With another smack he threw Esme to the floor and towered over her as she cried out.   
"Don't you dare raise your hand to my wife." Olaf hissed, his amber eyes full of fire. "She is mine. And mine to do what I and I alone see fit. If you ever touch her again, I promise you your punishment will be far worse."   
Klaus had expected Esme to look terrified or heartbroken. But he does not know Esme Squalor as I do. Although she melts in Olaf's hand, she is still that sharp villain.   
She wiped the blood from her nose looking murderous. "Of course."   
Olaf turned to Violet with the same menacing aura. She shrunk away from him but was pressed up against a wall.   
"Do not antagonise my girlfriend." He said softly. "Or I will see to it that you do not speak again. Have I made myself clear?"

Before she died, the Baudelaire's mother would call her children to the window and say.   
"Look! Your father's bringing home the bacon."  
Of course, she never actually meant he was bringing home literal bacon. It was a figure of speech referring to bringing home his wage at the end of the day. When the Baudelaire's mother would announce.  
"Look! Your father's bringing home the bacon."  
They knew it really meant.  
"Your father's home!"  
"I'm bringing home the bacon!" Olaf crowed triumphantly as he entered the threshold brandishing a certificate.   
"The entire Baudelaire fortune is mine. Signed over today perfectly legal."   
"Where's the bacon, boss?" The hook handed man asked eagerly.   
Olaf scowled. "It's not figurative bacon. It's literal bacon."  
"Yes, so where is it?"  
"Money!" Olaf shouted as he waved the certificate in his face. "I've brought home money!"   
Reader, if you have ever been a child no doubt you will have encountered a scenario of another child snatching your toy. It is not a particularly pleasant feeling and feels even worse when the trusted adults around you insist that you must share. As you grow into adulthood you grow accustomed to sharing, but you never forget the first feelings of anger.   
Although the Baudelaire's were wonderful at sharing, as charming children are, they felt the deep pit of anger within them as they saw Olaf brandishing their inheritance. While the Baudelaire's were not greedy and did not care for money, they felt a great deal of injustice. They thought of how hard their parents had worked for their fortune. And most regrettably how, without it, they would struggle to ever escape and set up a safe life away from Count Olaf.   
As Klaus poured the milk he felt himself shaking with so much anger he inevitably dropped the glass and watched it smash into a hundred pieces. Great gulping sobs racked through his body as he sunk to the floor.   
A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "There's no use crying over spilt milk."   
"There is." Klaus looked at the mess on the floor. "We had it and now it's gone."  
Reader, I'm sure you're clever enough to realise that Klaus Baudelaire was not referring to the milk.   
"Come now," the reassuring voice of his father joined his mother as he put a hand on his other shoulder. "What have we taught you? When a river finds its route blocked, does it stop? Or does it find a new way?"   
Klaus watched as the milk spilled into the crevices around the tiles, running all in separate directions. "It finds a new way."   
"There's always another road to where you need to be." His mother promised. "Dozens of roads. Though some paths are harder than others."   
Klaus sniffed and looked at them. He missed their comforting smiles so much.   
"I don't know where I need to be."   
"We don't always." His father's face was serious. "It can take years to figure it out. But on your journey it only matters that you and your sisters stay safe. One day at a time."   
"How will I get Violet out of here?" Klaus was desperate. "She's stuck here and I don't know what to do."   
His mother shushed him. "What did I tell your father when he was worried about the rickety bridge when we were travelling to our holiday?"  
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He remembered.  
"Figuratively and literally. It's going to be okay, Klaus. One day at a time."   
I cannot fully explain to you the events which you just read. All I can say is that I am quoting Klaus Baudelaire's journal. I cannot tell you if he has a gift that allows him to see people who have died. I cannot tell you if his parents came through the veil to see him. I cannot tell you if he was making this all up. But what I can tell you is that this conversation brought a young boy much comfort. And, even as an investigative journalist, for me that is enough. 

For the sixth time that week, Esme had to be dragged away kicking and screaming from Violet. The woman was filled with such intense jealousy that Olaf soon decided having the two of them under the same roof was not going to be safe.   
"I bet you're relieved." Klaus muttered as they watched Olaf drive her away.   
"Yes and no." Violet's face was pale. "I'm relieved that she's gone. You know how vile she was to me."   
It was true. Esme took every opportunity to insult the Baudelaire's and was especially vindictive towards Violet. She took great delight in insulting her, particularly in her appearance. Thankfully Violet is a wise girl and knows that there is more to life than how you look and that everyone has beauty.   
Whenever the young girl walked past the older woman, she would be pinched with long sharp nails or kicked with stilettos.   
It eventually had all come to a head when a drunken Esme staggered into the bedroom with a knife and threatened to kill the baby. Her manic cackles echoed through the house as Olaf restrained her and told Violet to run to her siblings.   
"Why no?" Sunny asked.   
Violet smiled sadly. "Because Count Olaf will have lost his distraction." 

Klaus woke up thirsty in the night and crept downstairs to grab a drink. However he stopped when he heard voices coming from the kitchen.   
"Do you regret it?"   
"No." Count Olaf had returned then. "It had to be done. She threatened my wife and child. I couldn't have her in the house."  
"I thought you were going to house her elsewhere?" Klaus guessed from the lower tone that it was the bald man with the long nose.   
"That was the plan." Count Olaf admitted. "But she became too unpredictable for my liking. And I can't stand nagging in a woman. Always nagging me to get rid of the three of them."   
"Would you?"  
"Of course I wouldn't get rid of my countess." Klaus heard him snap angrily. "And the bookworm has been snatched up by my mentors. I wouldn't want to risk their displeasure even though killing him would give me a great amount of pleasure."  
"And the biting one?"  
"She's Violet's Achilles Heel at the moment. But at soon as the new baby is born she'll have another Achilles Heel, no doubt one she'll be far more invested in. Fernald's taking a shine to the brat, but if she causes too much trouble I'll have her thrown off a cliff."   
It felt like Klaus' heart had stopped. He stayed rooted to the spot as if frozen. Was Sunny in danger?   
"Trouble or gets too expensive?" The bald man with the long nose laughed.   
"Either of those. I might just do it anyway to remind Violet who is in charge. She doesn't seem as afraid of me any more seeing as I can't do too much damage when she's pregnant. The girl goes around with a smile like she's planning something and I don't like it. The splattered remains of her sister would soon wipe that smile off of her face." 

Sunny had been having a rather lovely dream where she had been taken in by a troop of monkeys. Together they swung through the trees having a grand old time.   
Therefore she was rather annoyed to be woken by her brother.   
"We're leaving, Sunny." He was putting a jumper over her head before she was fully awake. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe."   
"Where?"  
An expression crossed his face that told Sunny he'd not actually thought about it.   
"I'll leave you with a note that explains everything." He tried again with more confidence. "I'll find someone who'll protect you."  
"Leave me?" Sunny was starting to wake up more now, her dreams of being a monkey seemed like a lifetime ago. "Leave me?"  
"Temporarily." Klaus was putting her arms through a coat now. She scowled. She wanted to do that herself. "Only temporarily."  
"How long?"  
"I don't know." Klaus admitted as he fiddled with the buttons. "I hope not long, but I can't say. I need to hang around for Violet. But it's not safe for you to be here."   
Sunny wanted to say that none of them had been safe from the moment they stood on Count Olaf's doorstep for the first time. However she decided not to raise it.   
"Violet?"  
Klaus was focusing on trying to put her left shoe on her right foot. She stopped him.   
"Violet." She insisted.   
"There's no time." Klaus was trying to put on a stern face but she could see it wobbling. "I need to get you somewhere safe and then I'll be back for Violet. One step at a time."  
It was bitingly cold outside, winter was arriving with a vengeance. Neither of the children had proper winter wear and shivered against each other.   
"I'm s-s-sorry I d-d-didn't do this s-s-sooner." Klaus shook as he clutched his baby sister. "I - I should have d-done this l-long ago."   
"Mr Poe?" Sunny's teeth were chattering and, as an infant with rather large pointed teeth, she had bit into her lip which was now very sore.   
"N-not him. We know he's u-useless. I re-rembered m-mother saying ab-bout some f-friends on Salutis Street. We - we'll go there."   
Please, I implore you, stop reading. More than anything I would love to write down that the Baudelaire's found adults who could protect them. Adults who would run in and rescue them from Count Olaf and his treachery. I would love to tell you that the Baudelaire's then grew up happy and content for the rest of their lives. If I were to do that I would be a writer of fiction. Instead I am a writer of the facts. And I must inform you that while I did used to live on Salutis Street, I left long before Violet was born.   
If you stay with me on this journey into the terrible lives of the Baudelaire's I must inform you of something else truly terrible.   
Long before Klaus and Sunny could get to their destination, they heard the screeching of a cars tyres.   
"Run!" Sunny screamed.   
And run he did. Klaus ran faster than he had ever ran in his life. My sister too was running, having seen the children from her window. It is her deepest regret that she did not get to them first.   
Instead the car mounted the pavement and blocked their path. Klaus tried to turn around but the bald man with the long nose was too quickly and bundled the pair into the back of the car where the wart faced man was waiting. 

As Klaus and Sunny were frogmarched back into the house they were met with the sound of clapping.   
Clapping is really quite wonderful. It can be used in music to keep some form of rhythm. Or it can be used to let a person or group of people know that you are very pleased with their success and talents. Usually the sound of applause is a sound that fills people with joy.   
Count Olaf's claps were slow and sarcastic. Sunny wanted to bite him.   
Sat beside Olaf was Violet still in her nightgown. When she saw her siblings relief fell over her face that they were reunited, but also sorrow that they had been caught.   
"Well, well, well." Olaf drawled. "Fancied a midnight stroll, did we?"   
Klaus scowled but didn't say anything. There wasn't any point.   
"You see, my pet." Olaf turned back to Violet as he put an arm around her. She shuddered. "I told you we'd get them back. How heartless of them. To abandon you. To leave you behind." He nodded at the younger Baudelaire's.   
"I bet they didn't even give you a second thought."  
"Not true!" Sunny shouted.   
Olaf sneered. "Is true. If you really cared for your sister you would have let her know your plan. You would have arranged for her to escape with you. Dear oh dear, cracks really have appeared in the foundations. You've given up on her."  
Sunny looked at Klaus waiting for him to interrupt. He did not.   
"Go to bed all of you." Olaf sounded bored. "And don't try any escaping again. It's tiring."

Sunny's belly hurt as she lay in her makeshift nest of blankets. She knew that it was guilt for leaving her sister behind. She wondered if it would ever leave. Sunny vaguely remembered a woman she assumed was her mother giving her cuddles when she was poorly, but she couldn't quite remember her face.   
There was a soft knock at the door and Violet appeared.   
"Violet!" Sunny shrieked and threw herself into her arms. All the feelings of anger and injustice Sunny had felt when she learned Violet was pregnant had melted away. There was still confusion, but Sunny had figured she would understand when she was older. Lot's of grown-ups like to say that.   
Sunny nestled herself in Violet's comforting arms as Violet wrapped her fingers round Sunny's growing curls.   
"Look how long your hair is getting." She kissed the top of her head. "Not a baby any more."   
"I'm sorry." Klaus said hoarsely. "I swear we weren't leaving you behind. It wasn't like that. It-"  
"It's okay." Violet interrupted. "I know. You needed to put Sunny first. Olaf said he thought you overheard his conversation. He told me what he said. I would have done the same thing."  
"We would never abandon you."  
Violet's smiles were always tired these days. "I know. Olaf kept telling me you had but I knew it wasn't true. I know that one day you'll have to go for good, but you'll come back for me. It's okay." She continued when Klaus opened his mouth to speak. "Now get some sleep. You've had a very frightening day."  
"Stay?" Sunny asked, her hand gripping Violet's. "Stay with me?"  
Violet gave her a cuddle. "I'll stay until you fall asleep."   
The first night Sunny had spent away from her home after it had burned down in a fire, she slept in Violet's arms. Violet had kissed her, wiped the tears from her eyes and stroked her cheeks singing lullabies until she fell asleep. Throughout the night when she would wake up, Violet would be there to comfort her and their routine would start all over again.   
But now Violet was ordered to be elsewhere and soon Klaus would be taken from her too.   
Sunny Baudelaire felt very frightened indeed.


	24. Get your filthy fingers out of my pie

Beatrice, with you in my life there was sunshine. Without you my life is as cold and dark as your grave. 

As a child, receiving post is always extremely exciting. Usually it heralds the arrival of a birthday or some other festive event, so you receive cards with warmest wishes inside and sometimes even money.   
As you grow older, receiving post is rather less exciting. Usually they are letters from a man named Bill demanding you pay him large amounts of money, which you would much rather spend on your newly acquired pet ferret.   
When Klaus Baudelaire received a letter, he couldn't quite pinpoint the plethora of emotions he felt whirling around inside him.   
The letter sat there so inconspicuous on the mat, the white envelope exuding innocence. It felt like years ago the Baudelaire's had pushed letters through the letterbox to the post officer on the other side. Was this finally a reply?   
Quickly Klaus pocketed it.   
Up in the room he and Sunny waited with baited breath as he unpeeled the envelope. 

Klaus

You wont know me. My name is Aunt Josephine. I’ve heard that your a very bright boy, which is good as one of my greatest joys in life is grammer. Its important to neva forget the importance of how to write properly!   
I write to congratulate the three of you on Violet’s marriage, I hear she iz very happy. I hope now she is devoting her time to her new husband you’re not feeling to left out. My dearest husband Ike is no longer with us, but are marriage was a happy one and I wish the same for your sister to.   
Its been years since I saw your parents and I miss them dearly. We used to have such wonderful adventures. They were goud people and the world is at a loss without them.   
I hope to meet you all soneday. 

Aunt Josephine

"Juana." Sunny said glumly which meant "she sounds crazy."  
"I must admit I had hoped for something more helpful." Klaus said glumly. He read through it again. "Mother and Father never mentioned an Aunt Josephine, let alone one so deluded."   
Sunny peeped in the envelope. "Aha!"   
Aha can mean many different things. It can mean "I found the dice!"  
Or it can mean "By saying you are an expert in snakes having previously said you were not an expert in snakes, I have evidence you are a liar"  
Or it could mean "Look! There's more in this envelope!"  
Indeed there was. Two crumpled and stained maps and a drawing of a snake.   
The drawing was signed Uncle Monty.   
"I wish we'd known about all these relatives before we were adopted by Count Olaf." Klaus said scornfully. "Might have been helpful if they'd appeared sooner."   
"Laloco" Sunny shrugged her shoulders, meaning I thought this stuff would be something helpful but it's just more junk from a crazy lady.   
But Klaus wasn't paying attention to his baby sister. All of his attention was focused on the eye of the snake.   
It was the same eye that had haunted his nightmares. The eye that followed them everywhere. The eye on Count Olaf's ankle.   
Was this some hideous trick of Olaf's? Some random exercise of method acting? It would explain the terrible spelling and grammar in the letter, but not the handwriting. As Klaus held the drawing up to the window to get a better look, the sun shone through and quite distinctly in three different colours you could make out an anagram in the eye.   
V.F.D  
There had to be a reason behind it.   
"There has to be a reason behind this." Klaus showed it to Sunny. "VFD. Do you know what it means?"  
"You Hawking." Sunny said baffled, meaning I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.   
Klaus frowned as he held it up looking for more clues. The snake was wrapped around what looked to be Olaf's tower and in the window was a trunk Klaus had seen many times before. It was unusually distinctive, in the shape of a heptagon.  
I don't know about you, but whenever I see a door that says Do Not Enter or Staff Only, I immediately become obsessed wanting to know what is behind that door. Our natural human curiousity tugs at us and it is our first test of seeing if we are noble or wicked people.   
You may feel the same way about locks as Klaus Baudelaire did. As a small boy he'd loved reading books on pirates and he'd learned that where there was a lock, there was treasure.   
The heptagon shaped trunk was held shut with a combination lock requiring 4 numbers.   
"V is the 22nd letter of the alphabet." Klaus said aloud. "F is the 6th and D is the 4th. That's the combination for the lock."  
"Me confused."  
"I'll explain on the way."

Sunny stood guard in the tower as Klaus crouched over the lock. On their way there they'd stopped to pick up some cleaning supplies so they could have an excuse to be there. For such a dirty man, Olaf detested insects so they'd brought up some bug repellent with the story that they'd seen a cockroach climb the stairs.   
When the lock clicked open, Klaus hesitated. Did he really want to find out what Olaf treasured? What horrors could lie within? But the drawing had to mean something.   
The contents of the trunk was far more organised than Klaus could ever have imagined, seeing as it belonged to Count Olaf.   
A crystal ball was tucked in the corner under a ship captains hat. A video of a film called Zombies in the Snow rested against a book on mushrooms, marked with a takeaway menu from a salmon themed restaurant. What took up most of the trunk however, was a large book that immediately sparked curiousity in the Baudelaire's.   
The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations.   
"Wow." Sunny said which meant I know I can't read yet, but I already know this book looks exciting.   
Carefully Klaus opened it up.   
"What that?"   
The illustration was of a brass spyglass and all the different combinations you could use to work it. There were combinations to give warning signals, there were combinations to reheat your dinner, there were combinations to start a fire.   
Klaus reached into his pocket and pulled the mysterious object he carried with him out.   
Mr Poe had taken the Baudelaire's to the ruins of their family home and it was only the small brass cylinder that had survived. Klaus had assumed it had been decorative until the man with the beard and no hair and the woman with the hair and no beard had referred to it.   
Now here it was. A device that could be used to start fires. Why would his parents have such a thing? Did they ever use it for that?   
Sunny flicked over to the next page and the siblings gasped.   
Safely tucked between the pages explaining poison darts, was a picture of their parents.   
Reader, in case you weren't fully aware of the tragedies in the lives of the Baudelaire orphans, I should remind you that the fire had destroyed their home and everything inside. The children didn't even have a photograph to remember their parents by.   
Until now.   
"Mummy." Sunny touched their faces.   
It is a great sorrow for everyone involved that Bertrand Baudelaire never heard his youngest child call him anything. She would shriek for him and hold out her arms so he could twirl her around in the air, but he had never heard her little voice exclaim "Daddy!"  
"Daddy."  
Sunny Baudelaire had forgotten what her parents looked like, really being too small to remember things the same way an older person would. However, as she saw their faces memories came flooding back to her as tears flooded down her cheeks.   
Klaus put a comforting arm around her.   
Stood in front of a lumber mill, their parents looked to be in their early twenties, before the birth of their children, and they weren't alone. A dozen strangers stood with them, all looking happy.   
"Friends."  
Growing up, the children had been so concerned with who their friends were, they never stopped to ask their parents about the people they surrounded themselves with.   
"Look." Klaus pointed. "It says who everyone is. And there's Uncle Monty. And that's Aunt Josephine."  
"Trust them?"  
"I'm not sure." Klaus said honestly. "If they really were noble people, surely they would have helped us out at the start of our troubles and not left it so late. I wonder why Olaf has this photograph?"   
Reader, I can tell you that Olaf had this photograph is his possession for two reasons.   
One was to remind himself of the people he felt had ruined his life and to encourage him to always think of revenge.   
The second reason was because Olaf was the one behind the camera. 

Although the Baudelaire's were desperate to find out more, they both agreed that to be hiding up in the tower for too long would be suspicious, so they agreed to return to the book the following day.   
In the meantime, they poured over the maps hoping that it would bring some other clues. For Klaus, it meant using his brilliant mind again and it felt fantastic.   
"It's a shame our house is covered by a stain." Klaus sighed. "I know it would only have been a square, but it's still one I would have liked to see. I guess grammar isn't the only thing Aunt Josephine is careless with."   
It was Sunny Baudelaire's turn to be ignoring her brother. Instead she was frowning at the other map as if expecting something to materialise.   
"Look."  
"Yes, another stain."  
"Look." Sunny insisted.   
Klaus peered closer. It wasn't just another stain. It was another stain that was identical to the one that covered their home.   
"This can't be a coincidence." Klaus breathed. "It must be a message. They're telling us where to meet them."  
"Let's go!" Sunny shrieked.   
Klaus hesitated. "Sunny, we've pushed Count Olaf as far as he can go. We've been caught so many times before. If we're caught again, I don't know what he'll do."  
He'd been prepared for her to be disappointed, even to argue. Instead she smiled at him brightly.   
"Shopping!"

"What do you mean all the alcohol is gone?"   
Klaus tried to keep a straight face. "I was cleaning the kitchen today and I saw there were only empty bottles. There's no food for dinner either."   
"But we're starving!" The white faced women whined.   
"I'm thirsty!" The hook handed man complained.   
"I'm tired of your whinging." Olaf snarled at them.   
"I'd offer to go myself." Klaus said with as much sincerity as he could muster, "but I won't be able to carry all the shopping by myself. And I don't think they'd serve me alcohol."   
"I also don't trust you." Olaf's eyes were shiny. "You're just trying to escape again."  
"Sunny's asleep right now and I wouldn't leave her." Klaus said honestly. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. I'm hungry too and it's important that Violet gets proper nutriants."  
Violet had been watching the scene unfold with a determined glint in her eye. Although the siblings had not managed to speak about Klaus' plan, Violet knew that it was imperitive he sneak out.   
"Perhaps Klaus could have a chaperone?" Sat beside her husband, it was easy for Violet to lay a gentle hand on his arm. "One who'll make sure he doesn't run off."  
Olaf tried to scowl at her, but his face softened. "Oh my little Mata Hari, how could I deny you?"  
Klaus saw the flash of panic behind her eyes but she kept her serene smile.   
"Would you keep my brother safe?" Violet asked the bald man with the long nose. "And see he doesn't come to any harm?"   
It was just the person they needed. 

Reader, if you are a child I really must insist that you look away. Even if you are a noble adult, I also implore you to do the same. The bald man with the long nose had a habit so deplorable, I can scarcely bring myself to write it down.   
The hobby of the bald man with the long nose was centred around horses. I wish I could tell you it was caring for these noble creatures, mucking out their stables, brushing them and giving them carrots. Instead, his hobby involved placing a large amount of money on a horse and then watching it be whipped to go faster and faster around a racecourse until the poor creature wanted to pass out. At the end the person whipping the fastest horse would get a large trophy, and if you bet on them you would win an even larger amount of money.   
Klaus Baudelaire had been wondering how to escape the clutches of Olaf's henchman and a perfect opportunity had presented itself. Just round the corner from where he needed to be was a betting shop. Inside a large screen showed the set up for one of these terrible events. The bald man with the long nose looked longingly inside.   
"We could go in?" Klaus suggested, knowing full well that children aren't allowed inside such places.  
"Children aren't allowed inside such places." He'd never heard the man sound so mournful.   
"Oh." Klaus sighed. "It's a shame you don't trust me enough to wait outside for you."  
The bald man with the long nose glanced down at him. "A big shame. If you moved a muscle I'd cut your eyes out. Try using glasses then."  
"Oh I know that." Klaus nodded. "That's why I'd stay exactly where I was."  
The bald man peered at him suspiciously, a word here meaning trying to work out if Klaus Baudelaire was telling the truth.   
"I expect you'd tell Count Olaf I let you out of my sight."  
"Oh no." Klaus said innocently. "After all, I would still be in your sight if I sat here."   
It was far easier than Klaus had expected it to be. Before he knew it, the bald man with the long nose was inside glued to the screen while he was outside and free. Initially his gaoler had peeked at him every once in a while, but as soon as the race started he was transfixed and completely forgot about the orphan boy outside.   
Klaus had never been a sporty child, far preferring to sit still with a book, but at that moment he ran faster than those poor whipped horses. He kept the stain on the map in his mind. What was going to be there? A house? A headquarters? Who would be waiting inside? What could they tell him? Would they rescue him right away?   
He was just the turn of a corner away. He was so close.   
As he sprinted round the corner it felt like he had flung himself off a cliff.   
The feeling of fighting against what he saw felt like the falling through the air. The splat at the bottom was the defeat when he saw there was nothing there.


	25. I said hey girl with one eye

Beatrice, how could we know that one day the warmth of a fire, would burn through your house and cause you to expire?

Ignorance is bliss. I first heard that expression many years ago as a young man and was instantly troubled. As someone who had a great love of learning, I wondered how on earth people could believe that being kept in the dark was preferable to coming into the light of knowledge.   
To my great sorrow, I have learned that knowledge is not always light. Sometimes it is being shown into a dark room and left alone while you try and fight away the monsters lurking in the shadows.   
It is a lesson I shall try and teach you now, but in far gentler circumstances. Please, turn aside, away from this terrible story of woe. In your ignorance of the tragic story of the Baudelaire's, you will find bliss. If you continue to read, it will be like I am pushing you into the darkness and soon it will be too late.   
Klaus Baudelaire felt like he was staggering down a dark corridor. As it happens, at that moment in time he was staggering down a dark corridor, but it was the figurative one that played the most heavily on his mind.   
He'd been unable to sleep and had decided to go down to the kitchen. However, in Count Olaf's enormous new home he felt terribly lost. It reminded him of the story of a Minotaur.   
In Greek mythology, the Minotaur was a monster with the body of a man and the head and tail of a bull. The Minotaur was held in a huge labyrinth. Once a year it would feast on seven youths and seven maidens, until the brave Theseus finally slayed it.   
Klaus did not feel like the brave Theseus. He had failed to slay the Minotaur, instead rolling over and allowing him to claim the Baudelaire fortune. Klaus knew he would hate this house for as long as he lived. One night he dreamt that he'd set it on fire, watching the flames climb up the towers and laughed. He woke in a cold sweat as he realised the laugh coming out of his mouth was the same cruel laugh as Count Olaf.   
The mansion ought to have been called a palace. Every room held an ornate marble fireplace while the windows were draped in red velvet. It screamed opulence and wealth to most, but to Klaus such displays were gaudy.   
"Money can't buy class." His mother had said to him many years ago.   
He certainly agreed with that now.   
The kitchen was not empty. Violet was sat at the table with a glass of water staring into space. A large bruise blossomed on her eye, the skin swelling to the point it looked like she only had one eye.   
The two siblings rarely had an opportunity to talk. Since Olaf's return, he'd kept Violet close by his side and Klaus busy with chores. Despite his desperation to talk to his older sister, Klaus felt himself hesitating. She was like a stranger to him. He also feared Count Olaf's reaction if he caught them together.   
"He's passed out drunk upstairs." She said softly. "He won't wake for hours."   
Klaus stepped into the room shyly. "Sometimes it feels like you can read my mind."  
Violet smiled at him. "You and I think the same things."   
Klaus took the seat opposite as she poured him a glass of water. She looked tired.   
"Count Olaf?" He nodded towards the bruise.  
"Count Olaf." She agreed. "I answered back. We argued. This is my punishment." Violet cocked her head at him.   
"Can't sleep?"  
He shook his head. Klaus hadn't told Violet about the letter from Aunt Josephine or the drawing from Uncle Monty. He hadn't wanted to get her hopes up, and seeing as his were now dashed it made sense.   
"You look disappointed."  
"I am." Klaus admitted. "But that's nothing new."   
Violet gave him a curious look before pulling an envelope out of her dressing gown pocket. It was addressed to him.  
"This was on the doormat yesterday. I picked it up before he could."  
The handwriting was Aunt Josephine's. 

Dear Klaus,

I hope to hear from you soon. My greatest wish is to help you and your sisters.

Remember your grammar.

Aunt Josephine

"Remember your grammar?" Violet asked.   
"She said in the last letter it was her greatest joy." He looked at her guiltily. "She wrote to us a few days ago. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."  
The smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I understand. It's comforting to know there are still some people out there. Even if grammar is their greatest joy."   
"I don't think it can be." Klaus smirked slightly. "Her previous letter was full of errors."   
"Maybe there's more to her than meets the eye. Maybe-" she was cut off by a wince.   
Years ago I bought an old friend and elephant.   
"Thanks." She said.  
"Don't mention it." I said.   
The reason why I didn't want to talk about the elephant in the room was because I actually stole it from Esme Squalor at a time when elephants were "in". She was furious to find her beloved elephant missing, not because she missed the creatures company, but because she missed the object hiding in a bag on its saddle. It was an object that continues to fill me with such sorrow, and although I stole it for noble reasons, I found myself unable to talk about the elephant without weeping at my deceit and horror at what lay hidden away.   
So for weeks we did not talk about the elephant in the room, until my dearest Beatrice came to visit and admonished us for being rather unkind to the poor creature who had not asked to be there. We freed the elephant and I hear that she is now making a lucrative trade stopping fires in the amazon rainforest. I am very proud of her.   
I digress.   
In the case of the Baudelaire's, the elephant in the room was not a literal elephant. Instead it was the baby who would make their appearance in only a few weeks.   
Klaus had encouraged his sister to research all she could on child rearing, however he had stayed away from the subject himself. He reasoned it was because he would leave with the man with the beard and no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard, before the baby was born.   
The truth was quite a different matter.   
Klaus was avoiding anything to do with the baby because of the amount of guilt he felt. The baby represented his failure in protecting his sister, a guilt he would carry for the rest of his life.   
He also felt guilt because he knew he could never love something that was part of Count Olaf.   
If he had spoken to Violet about this, he would have seen they were in the same boat.   
"Are you in pain?"  
Violet gave a tight smile. "Discomfort. I'm being kicked in the ribs most of the time. Everything aches. I want to lie in bed, but when I do I can't get comfortable."   
"Can you go to a doctor?"  
"That's what we argued about." Violet said softly. "I asked if I could give birth in a hospital. He said no. He said there were too many people who would volunteer to take us away from him. I shouldn't have answered back."  
"Yes, you should have!" Not for the first time, Klaus wondered where his fiery sister had gone. "You should fight him every step of the way."  
"Would you fight a tiger, Klaus?" She sounded firm. "A hungry prowling tiger, do you think you could fight one? Or would you wait for it to fall asleep? Besides, I promised our parents I would keep you and Sunny safe. The two of you are alive because I have kept you alive."  
Klaus felt himself flush. He fought the urge to scowl. "I expect he wants a boy?"  
To his surprise, his sister shook her head.   
"He wants a girl." Violet said sadly, her hand gently resting on the swell of her stomach. "A pretty girl."   
"What do you want?"  
She didn't meet his eyes. "If the baby is a boy, I'm afraid he'll look like him. I'm afraid whenever I look at him I'll see his father. I'm afraid I won't love him." A tear slipped down her cheek. "If the baby is a girl, I'm afraid I won't be able to protect her."   
"What are you doing here?"  
Olaf's voice cut through the air making the Baudelaire's jump. Normally in the evenings, Olaf would be sagging against the doorframe, too drunk to hold up his own weight. However, in this moment he looked as cold and calculating as the day the children knocked on his door.   
Klaus hurriedly pocketed the letter.   
"I didn't feel well." Violet sighed. "And Klaus couldn't sleep. We're just having some water."  
Olaf raised his eyebrow. "Two little birds chirping together at this time of night. You know that won't do." He made his way over to Violet and offered her his arm. With reluctance she accepted it and Klaus was astonished to see how gently Olaf helped her up from the chair.   
Months ago, Violet would have shyed away from Olaf yet, due to the late stage of her pregnancy, she allowed herself to lean against him.   
"Clean up in here, orphan." Olaf called over his shoulder.   
There was no point resisting. The job needed doing and it wouldn't take long. He washed up the glasses and put away the rest of the crockery. As he walked past the table, he felt his leg brush against something sharp.   
A bag filled with all sorts of random items. There were elastic bands and whisks. Forks and hammers. Scraps of wire and a collinder. To the unsuspecting eye it looked like a bag of junk. To Klaus Baudelaire, it looked like the sort of supplies his sister would get together.   
What was she planning?

"What this?" Sunny Baudelaire held up the letter. When she'd woken to find her brother gone, Sunny had stayed awake for him, desperately hoping he would return.   
"Another letter from that mysterious Aunt Josephine." Klaus sighed. "We'll reply when our lives aren't quite so turbulent."  
"Read it." Sunny insisted. 

Dear Klaus,

I hope to hear from you soon. My greatest wish is to help you and your sisters.

Remember your grammar.

Aunt Josephine

"Violet wondered if there was more to it than meets the eye." Klaus glanced over it again. "But I think she was just getting her hopes up."   
"Trojan?"  
Sunny Baudelaire of course was referring to the Trojan Horse. Many many years ago, long before even your grandparents were born, the Greeks needed to enter the city of Troy. After ten years they decided to try a different tactic and instead offer a large statue of a horse as a peace offering.   
The horse was accepted into the city, it broke open and the Greek soldiers leapt out ready to slaughter anyone who got in their way.   
Sunny Baudelaire was not saying that Aunt Josephine was planning on slaughtering everyone in the house. But she was suggesting that perhaps Aunt Josephine's letter wasn't quite as innocent as it appeared.   
"Her grammar has improved." Klaus said.   
"Improved or changed?"  
In the new house Klaus and Sunny were still kept in a tiny attic room, but the floorboards had not been laid down properly and therefore they had a wealth of hiding places. Checking over their shoulders, the Baudelaire's pulled out Aunt Josephine's previous letter. 

Klaus

You wont know me. My name is Aunt Josephine. I’ve heard that your a very bright boy, which is good as one of my greatest joys in life is grammer. Its important to neva forget the importance of how to write properly!   
I write to congratulate the three of you on Violet’s marriage, I hear she iz very happy. I hope now she is devoting her time to her new husband you’re not feeling to left out. My dearest husband Ike is no longer with us, but are marriage was a happy one and I wish the same for your sister to.   
Its been years since I saw your parents and I miss them dearly. We used to have such wonderful adventures. They were goud people and the world is at a loss without them.   
I hope to meet you all soneday. 

Aunt Josephine

"Won't should have an apostrophe." Klaus wrote the word down. "And it's you apostrophe r e not your." He wrote that down too. "Then there's the spelling of grammar."   
Sunny was still of an age where she couldn't read yet, but as Klaus worked she offered plenty of encouragement.   
"Won't you're grammar never is too our too it's good someday." Klaus read.   
"Huh?"  
"It's hopeless." Klaus wanted to kick something. "It didn't mean anything. She's just crazy."   
"Try 'gain!"  
"Sunny, I-"  
"Please, try 'gain. My can't do it." Her big brown eyes peeped up at him. "Kows try 'gain."   
It was the first time she'd said his name. Kows was close enough. Sunny needed him. She needed him not to give up.   
"You go to sleep." Klaus ruffled her blonde curls. "I'll work on this."

Sunny was having a marvellous dream. She was the Queen of the rabbits. All of the rabbits marvelled at her amazingly sharp teeth and brought her carrots to bite all day long. She'd just grown long floppy white ears when her brother shook her awake.   
"Train Station." He was beside himself with excitement. "Sunny, the code is train station."

The two siblings managed to meet again as they prepared lunch.   
"Father told me that map makers add in false locations so that other map makers don't copy their work." Klaus whispered. "But what if there was a real station masquerading as a fake one?"  
"Where?" Sunny checked the doorway.   
"Where I went before." Klaus' cheeks were flushed. "Where the stain was on the map. That's why I didn't see anything. It's underground." He froze.   
"What is it?" Sunny asked worriedly.   
Klaus' face softened. "I remembered something. Father used to tell me about an out of use railway station. It was when I was reading a lot of ghost stories. He said the railway station would be the perfect setting for a ghost story. He promised to take me there one day."   
"Go now?" Sunny's face was eager.   
Klaus shook his head. "We need to make a plan first, Sunny. We cannot afford to get caught again. For now we have to play the waiting game."   
Another elephant in the lives of the Baudelaire's was time. Like sand slipping through an hourglass. Time was running through their fingers. Time was running out.


	26. I'll cut your little heart out

Beatrice, I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. 

If you have ever been around nature as the snow melts away, you may have seen birds going about their day collecting up twigs and moss and anything else they can use to create a safe haven for their eggs. It is a long laborious job, particularly if you are being targeted by a particularly thieving wren, but the end result is always one of joy and before you know it you are being woken by the birdsong of a new generation.   
It is not only birds who are prone to nesting, but also to women in the final stages of their pregnancy. They will paint the nursery with reckless abandon, buy enough items to sink a small ship and fret over the amount of sunlight that spills into the room.   
Reader, I wish I could tell you that I was going to describe a wonderful tale of a couple as they got ready for the birth of their child. I wish I could fill it with pleasing anecdotes of cravings for blueberry ice-cream at 3 o'clock in the morning or a the hilarity of trying to fit a car seat. I wish I could tell you that both parents stood back at their finished nursery with pride, beaming with excitement at the thought of their first child shortly coming into the world.   
I could tell you their story, but it is too painful. They died in a terrible fire and it is for that reason that I am duty bound to report on the story of the Baudelaire children as they try to navigate through their horrible circumstances.   
Violet Baudelaire was in the final few weeks of her pregnancy and finding it quite exhausting to move. Nevertheless, nesting had brought back a certain gleam in her eye as she wrote lists and lists of everything she needed to prepare for.   
"Count Olaf?"   
The Baudelaire's were with their guardian in the dining room. Swathed in red velvet, the room already had a level of grime you might associate with a room that had been abandoned for several years.   
Olaf was slumped in his chair, his feet resting up on the table in a display of disgusting bad manners. Since acquiring the Baudelaire fortune, Olaf had insisted on only the finest cuisine. I should tell you that often the finest cuisine is actually quite disgusting it's just expensive. Therefore it wasn't uncommon for Count Olaf to order something horrendous, have two bites and then snack for the rest of the day.   
Currently he held two chicken wings in his hands, grease dripping down his chin. Klaus noticed Sunny was watching him in disgust, quite unable to look away. They were not allowed to sit, only stand and wait for further instruction.   
"What is it, orphan?"   
Violet swallowed nervously. "The baby will be arriving soon. They'll need things. A cot. A changing table. Clothes."   
Olaf raised his eyebrow. "And you bother me with this why?"  
Violet flushed, a hint of anger in her dark eyes. "You have taken our money. I have nothing to provide the baby with. I need you to buy these things."   
Olaf grimaced and took another bite of chicken. The Baudelaire's grimaced as he spoke with his mouth full.   
"There's no such thing as a free lunch."   
Many years ago, saloon bars were enormously popular as they generously offered their drinking customers a free lunch. It was heralded as the most charitable thing in the world. However, an undercover reporter discovered that the bar owners were clever rather than charitable. They'd sell food covered in salt and then raised the prices of drinks as the customers got thirstier. With a heavy heart, the reporter wrote the headline:  
There's no such thing as a free lunch.   
While it is a sentiment I agree with, Count Olaf's use of it was unfair.   
"Your use of that expression is unfair." Klaus said fiercely. "You've taken our fortune. We don't have anything else to give you."   
"Paupers!" cried Sunny. "Be generous!"  
Olaf raised his eyebrow. "I've been plenty generous, orphans. As I've told you many times, I could have just slit your throats by now. My allowing you to live with a roof over your head, clothed and with food in your belly is evidence enough of my generosity."   
As you know, the hook handed man had snuck in some old clothes for the ever growing Sunny, while the white faced women had taken pity on Violet and stolen some maternity wear for her. Klaus was not so lucky, as he'd grown his clothes had failed to get the memo leaving him with trousers that no longer reached his ankles and shirts that pinched tight around his forearms.   
"Please, Olaf." Violet said quietly. "This is your baby."  
As Olaf gently laid his hands on the swell of his sisters stomach, Klaus wondered if it had worked.   
It had not. 

I am told that one of Olaf's associates once asked the Baudelaire's to describe grief. Klaus Baudelaire floundered for an explanation, a thousand thoughts filling his brain but nothing came out. Instead it was Violet Baudelaire who spoke.   
"You cannot describe grief. Only feel it."   
I have painted various portraits of grief for you in my research so that you might have the smallest understanding of such a painful feeling. However, if you have experienced grief you will find that nothing quite comes close enough. I have written poems, letters, prose and scripts, yet nothing compares to the devastating ache I feel knowing that my beloved Beatrice will never caress my cheek again. I will never see her warm smile or hear her tinkling laugh. She is gone from me. No matter how hard you try, you will never quite be able to put grief into words.   
"What are we going to do?"   
Violet brought Klaus out of his daydream. The three Baudelaire's were in the babies nursery, although the word nursery here is just a generous word for a unkempt room in which a baby will eventually sleep. Klaus gazing out of the window and dreading his approaching leaving day.  
Violet pacing the nursery like a distressed lioness at the zoo.   
Sunny perched on the bed, leaning against the rusty frame as she watched her siblings wondering if things would ever return to normal. Not that she could even remember what normal felt like. For Sunny knew that Klaus would be going off with those villainous people, while Violet would be understandably pre-occupied with a newborn. She supposed that eventually she'd be forgotten about. Perhaps that was for the best.   
Violet was biting her lip. "I've narrowed it down to the bare minimum and I won't need much. We can use some of Sunny's old clothes, anything that's too damaged I can turn into cloth nappies. I can bathe them in the sink. The baby just needs somewhere to sleep."  
Growing up the Baudelaire children had never wanted for anything. They were not spoiled per se as it was not in their nature to be greedy, but they had never come across the tightening of purse strings. It tugged at Klaus' heart now to see Violet this way.   
"I wondered if you'd been inventing things." It felt ridiculous to hear him say out loud. His sister was no longer the girl who spent her days inventing ans dreaming of new ways to help the world. She'd made that perfectly clear.   
"No." Her tone is short, but not unkind. "I told you, Klaus. It's just materials I've needed for fixing up the house. I don't think I know how to invent anymore."  
"Ribbon?" Sunny asked, her mouth wobbling.   
Violet smiled down sadly at her little sister. "I used to think that just sweeping my hair out of my face could solve any problem."  
"And then?"  
"Then I grew up." 

As Klaus snapped his suitcase shut he felt the pit of dread in his stomach grow. This was his last night with his sisters. Tomorrow the man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard would arrive and whisk him away to begin his schooling. Truth be told, Klaus found he couldn't even be certain that's what they were going to do. For all he knew, they could just as easily take him somewhere and see to his unfortunate demise. He pushed those fears aside and tried to think logically. If that had been their plan, they would have done so by now.   
Sunny watched him with undisguised despair in her tearful eyes. As he'd packed, her little hands had clung to his trouser leg as she padded around after him. Every now again he would ruffle her curls to reassure her, but he knew deep down that nothing would work. He could not promise Sunny what her future held. He could not reassure her that everything was going to be okay.   
As she reached up for him, Klaus swung her up and held her close to his chest. Soon his shoulder was wet with her tears. There would have been a time where Klaus would have been disgusted by this and put her down. But then their parents had died.   
"No matter what," Klaus whispered as he soothed her, "I will come back for you. Whenever I go away, I will always be making plans to come back for you."   
"My know." 

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you. Do you know what that means, boy?"  
For reasons unknown to him, Klaus had been summoned before Count Olaf in his poor excuse for a study. The air was stale with cigarette smoke and wine, years worth of rubbish piling up in the corners and a thick level of grime clingy to the mahogany furniture. I do not need to tell you that it was an evil place well fitting of an evil man, because I suspect you are already intelligent enough to work that out for yourselves. What I do need to tell you is that Klaus Baudelaire would never step foot in this room again.   
Klaus Baudelaire liked answering questions. He was a naturally curious boy and it pleased him to share his wealth of knowledge with people. However, people does not include Count Olaf.   
"It means don't turn against a benefactor." Klaus' jaw was so clenched his teeth gritted together. "I wouldn't say you've been a benefactor."  
Count Olaf's thin lips spread into a smile as he placed his hands together. "I've been very generous. I took in three orphans and kept them alive, even though most of my enemies would have died a lot quicker in your shoes. I kept a roof over your heads, food in your bellies and declined multiple offers to sell you. You ought to be thanking me, there are those out there with far worse."  
Klaus met his speech with a stony silence. An expression here meaning he kept silent as he imagined throwing large chunks of rock at his guardian.   
"However," Olaf brought him back to reality, "I was referring to your new guardians."  
The man with the beard but no hair and the woman with the hair but no beard. Klaus still felt sick at the thought of it.   
"Hear some advice from someone who was trained by them." Olaf drawled with his usual grandiose air. "Someone who really knows what it's like. Someone who has a true understanding of what it means to be-"  
"Get on with it."  
Olaf's eyes shone. "I can tell you now that impeccable manners are required at all times."  
"I've never seen you use manners."  
"They're not needed for vermin. At your new school you will be the bottom of the food chain, so if you want to climb that ladder you will need to use your best manners to slime your way up ahead seeing as you lack real talent. Don't spend time making friends make associates. Make people admire you who will follow you."  
"I thought you said I don't have any real talent." Klaus said sardonically. "How can I make them admire me?"  
Olaf shrugged as if it was obvious. "If you admire yourself people who believe you have something worth admiring. They'll be drawn to it. For other people to believe the fantasy you first have to create it and act it yourself."   
Klaus felt it explained a lot about Count Olaf.   
"Of course it's not a tactic I needed to use. My natural talents drew people to me like a moth to a flame."   
Not wanting to think about such a gruesome image, Klaus squirmed in his spot. "Is there anything else?"  
Olaf's face clouded over. "Do not give them a reason to kill you. Believe me, orphan. They will. They will kill you if you disobey them. They will kill you if you show weakness. Heck, they'll even kill you if you look at them funny. They will kill you if they grow bored of you. Where you're going isn't a normal school. It's a mountain. You need to climb to the top to survive and if that means peeling off the clinging fingers of your comrades then so be it. Or you'll be the one falling." 

In every dream it felt like he was falling. He'd always wake up before he hit the bottom in an ice cold sweat, heart thumping as he stifled a cry. Sunny didn't seem to be sleeping either. Every now and again he'd see her peeping at him worriedly.   
"It'll be ok."  
Klaus wasn't sure if he was saying it to himself or to her. 

The wind was as sharp as knives as it cut through him. He was falling so fast he could barely catch his breath, falling backwards into the unknown, hoping he'd pass out before he hit them bottom. But survival still kicked in, his reached out his hands trying to grab at something, anything. But what was there around? White nothingness. Air slipped through his fingertips. He had to try.   
"Klaus!"  
Violet. She sounded so far away.   
"Klaus!"  
If he stretched out a little further maybe she could reach him.   
"Klaus!"

Violet's face loomed into view as he woke. He wasn't falling. He was in bed. Why wasn't Violet? She looked over her shoulder cautiously.   
"Take Sunny." Her voice was a firm whisper. "There's a taxi waiting for you at the park. It'll take you to where the map led you before. The driver should go with you, but just in case, there's a manhole cover by a tree. It will be unlocked. Open it up and there'll be an underground tunnel. Climb down using these." She hauled a bag onto the bed that made a large clanging noise. "They're easy enough to use, I invented them myself. When you get the bottom of the tunnel take three rights and one left. Knock on the door and hum Addio del Passato from La Traviata. They'll let you in."  
"Who are they?"   
"VFD." Violet was hurriedly zipping up Sunny's coat and putting on her shoes. "I've been in contact with them for a few months now. They'll explain everything."   
Klaus knew he wasn't falling any more but it still felt like the room was spinning. This wasn't the meek Violet he'd come to know recently, but this wasn't the old Violet either. She was stronger. No longer a child.   
Sunny reached out and touched her cheek. "Violet come?"  
Klaus frowned. "Of course she's coming. Aren't you, Violet?"  
She didn't look at him, instead taking Sunny's hand in hers and kissing it gently. "You know I can't."  
Klaus felt himself grow hot as tears sprung to his eyes. "Yes you can. Of course you're coming. We won't leave you behind."  
"You did before." It wasn't accusatory.   
"That was different." Klaus stumbled helplessly. "I was always going to come back for you. When are VFD coming to get you?"   
"Soon." Although she didn't look sure. "But what matters right now is getting you and Sunny out of here. You have to leave and tonight is the only night we can do it. If we-"  
"I don't understand." Klaus interrupted fiercely. "Why won't you come with us."  
Violet met his gaze sadly. Her hand rested on the protruding bump under her dressing gown.   
"I can't move quickly enough." She whispered. "When you go you'll have to run. I can't slow you down."  
"Why can't the taxi get closer to the house?"  
"They could be killed on sight if recognised. It's safer for them to meet you at the park. They can't risk losing any more people."  
"I can't risk losing you!"  
It burst out of him and before he knew it he was crying. They were all crying. The three Baudelaire orphans crying at the thought of never seeing one another again. Crying at the uncertainty of their future. Crying for their parents they'd not been able to mourn and missed very dearly.   
"Please, go now." Violet dried her tears with the back of her hand. "I beg you. Take Sunny and run. She's not safe here."  
"You're not safe here."  
Violet shrugged with a sad amount of resignation for one so young. "I'm his wife. I'm carrying his child. He won't kill me. Please, Klaus. VFD will come for me soon. I just need to get you safe first. If I get caught leaving I don't know what he'll do to you." Tears pricked in her eyes again and Sunny launched herself into her arms. "If I stay behind I can persuade Olaf not to go after you. He has the Baudelaire fortune. He doesn't need you any more. Please go while it's still safe."  
"We're the Baudelaire's." Klaus said helplessly. "We stick together."   
Violet's brown eyes met his steadily. It was just like seeing his mother again.  
"I made a promise to our parents, as the oldest, that I would always protect the two of you. I promised them I would look after you. I promised I would care for you. Let me fulfil that promise."   
Many years ago I was mountain climbing with my brother when he fell between a piece of rock and a hard piece of ice. Despite the difference in materials, my brother found himself quite stuck and when quizzed about it later said that it felt much like the same thing. Stuck between a rock and a hard place he was not sure which was worse.   
For Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire they were experiencing a similar feeling now, although it was figurative rather than literal.   
On the one hand they did not feel that they could leave their sister behind to suffer the wrath of their evil guardian when he found out that they'd escaped. They could not be certain when they'd return for her. They could not be certain if they would ever see her again.   
I would interject here that my research has come to a halt. I do not know if the Baudelaire's ever reunited. There is no evidence of a joyful reunion, the trail grows cold. I tell you this now so that you may finally cast it out of your mind that this is a happy story and instead look away.   
On the other hand, this was what they had spent so long waiting for. This is the hope they'd clung onto. What was VFD? Who was VFD? Why had it taken them so long? If Violet had confidence in them, they supposed they did too. VFD would be able to help them rescue Violet and see Count Olaf sent to prison for good.   
"We'll go." Klaus could scarcely believe he was saying it. "You're right. It's not safe for Sunny here. We don't know what would happen to her when I go away. It's better that we leave now."  
Violet gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Klaus. Now go quickly. There isn't much time. More of Olaf's spies will be waking up soon. The less people who see you the better. You'll have to run as fast as you can."  
Klaus nodded. The time spent with Olaf scavenging handfuls of food had turned Klaus from a boy who could occasionally affectionately be described as portly, to one who was lean and whippet thin. Yet, his chores had built up enough muscle that would help him hold onto Sunny and the bag at the same time. 

The Baudelaire's padded down the stairs. Once more, every creak on the stairs felt like a shriek. Every breath felt like a scream. Every step felt like a crash. But they got to the door and the house remained silent.   
"This isn't goodbye." Klaus tried to sound confident. "I'll get VFD to come for you before the week is out. I'll tell them to come for you tomorrow. Whoever they are, I'll fight for them to get you."  
Violet didn't say anything, choosing instead to envelop her siblings in a hug.   
With a pang, Klaus realised it was the first time she'd been close to him since her wedding. It was a little awkward to hug her now, her belly getting in the way, but he realised how much he'd missed it.   
As Violet pulled away, Sunny tried to cling onto her hair, stifling a wail as she did so.   
Gently, Violet untangled herself. "It's okay, little one." She straightened up, her face determined. "Now go. Run and don't look back. I love you both."  
"We love you."  
"Love."  
Klaus and Sunny stared at Violet, desperately trying to drink in everything they could about her. The way she held herself as someone reborn. The strong smile she gave them. The twinkle that was coming back into her eyes again. They stared at her hoping to remember every tiny little detail. Just in case.   
Then Klaus turned on his heel and ran into the night.


	27. 'cause you made me cry

Beatrice, saying hello to you for the first time was hard. Saying goodbye to you for the last time was harder. 

A famous theologian once said “Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of Heaven.”   
That is how my beloved Beatrice finished off her letter detailing all the reasons she could not marry me. Even as my tears stained the paper, I thought of the heavenly feeling of when I’d see her again.   
Neither of us could have predicted it would end up being such a literal phrase.   
It is here I must say goodbye to Violet Baudelaire. While Klaus and Sunny have left plenty of evidence for me to track them, their sister has been elusive, much like the flower she had been named for. I cling onto the hope that while I say goodbye now, in the not too distant future I shall say hello and the three Baudelaire children can be reunited. Perhaps you will come across my further research into what happened when Klaus and Sunny climbed into the yellow taxi. Perhaps you will decide to pursue happier things. I wish I could have written a happy ending for the Baudelaire’s. But once more I must remind you that I am not a writer of fiction, only an ex journalist on the lam heavy with guilt. I couldn’t write you a fairytale ending any more than a goldfish could leap out of his bowl and recite Shakespeare. It would be a lovely thing to see, but that’s not how the story goes. 

"You are the eldest Baudelaire child, and as the eldest, it will always be your responsibility to look after your younger siblings. Promise us that you will always watch out for them and make sure they don't get into trouble."  
As the car jolted through the streets, skidding round corners and hurtling over potholes, Violet Baudelaire felt sick.   
If you were particularly inclined to travel sickness, this combined force of speed and uneven road would no doubt result in your face going green and throwing up in a brown paper bag. Travel sickness is a terrible condition that could be eased if only people built better roads or didn't drive like lunatics. Violet was currently experiencing a lunatic driver, so you really couldn't blame her for travel sickness in this instance.  
However, Violet Baudelaire was not suffering with travel sickness.  
What made Violet feel sick was the tight knot in the pit of her stomach, twisting at her insides until she felt all flipped upside down. It was not a knot of spaghetti or some other kind of tying up food, it was a knot of guilt. Guilt was rising up in her like particularly nasty bile. She had let her parents down. She had failed in her promise to keep her siblings safe.   
It was a devastating shock. Violet had grown up believing that there was always a way to solve any problem. But that depended on the other side playing fair and throwing a baby in a birdcage and threatening to drop her was definitely not fair.   
All Violet could hear in her head was her parents, “Promise us.” They would be so disappointed in her now.   
Her new husband was crowing at his good fortune. Her husband. She felt sick with fear as well as guilt. Violet wasn’t stupid, money was his main motivation but he had an interest in her that was far from friendly. One she couldn’t share with her younger siblings. The way he’d ask her for a kiss. The way he watched her like a lion watches a gazelle. The way he caressed her neck as he persuaded her to marry him. The way he groped her as she lay frozen in bed.   
She couldn’t think about that now. She had to try and keep her siblings safe.   
Sunny was asleep, Klaus looked ready to scream. She took his hand to keep him calm. It seemed to work. A plan. They needed a way out of this.   
Reality really kicked in when they swung onto the driveway. They were out of time and she still didn’t have a plan. Uncertainty was their future and they had no way to prepare for it.   
“I’m scared, Klaus.” She admitted. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to get out of this one.”

It felt like an odd poetic justice to see her siblings run to safety into the night on the anniversary of their parent’s death. She wondered if they knew it had been a year. A year that had passed as slowly as ten years.   
“Promise us.”   
Violet had kept her promise. They were going to be safe now. She’d put their safety above her own even though it had terrified her to do it.   
Violet watched as the pair disappeared into the darkness.   
“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes.” She whispered. “Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation.”  
Her father had quoted that to her when she was five. He’d been called away for work and she’d hid under the bed so she wouldn’t have to say goodbye. It felt like a hundred years since she’d thought that hiding under the bed could keep her safe.   
As much as she wanted to hide under her bed now, she had something else to do. 

The knife glinted at her as she ran her finger over the sharp steel blade. Even at her lightest touch it was enough to draw blood. In morbid curiosity, Violet watched as her blood trickled down the knife, recoiling in horror as she caught sight of her reflection.   
It had been easy enough to take the knife up the kitchen, pad quietly up the stairs and into the room where Olaf slept. It was not quite so easy to do what she had intended.   
In a drunken stupor, he’d passed out sprawled across the bed on his front, his head tilted to the side so she could see his face. How could someone so evil sleep so peacefully? After everything he’d done how could he sleep as if he had no care in the world?  
After this, Violet wondered if she’d ever be able to sleep again.   
“Promise us.”  
She thought of Count Olaf striking Klaus across the face after they made pasta.   
“Promise us.”  
She thought of Sunny terrified in the birdcage.   
“Promise us.”  
She thought of all the times Count Olaf had threatened to kill her siblings, had beaten Klaus, had tormented Sunny. All the times she’d failed in her promise.   
They were on their way to safety now, but for as long as Olaf lived they wouldn’t be safe. As long as he would be able to go after them he would. As long as he breathed, he would be there making their lives a misery.   
The baby moved inside her. The baby she was so afraid to love. Without a father this baby would have a second chance. She could tell them a story of someone wonderful. She could pretend all of this had been one terrible dream. She could tell them that their father had died a hero, even though it wouldn’t be true. They needn’t ever hear the name Count Olaf.   
“Promise us.”   
Violet Baudelaire was no murderer. However, she forced herself to tiptoe until she was standing over him, the knife held high above. She wasn’t a killer, she had no other choice.  
“Promise us.”  
Something made her hesitate. Perhaps it was that he was sleeping, unable to defend himself. It felt cruel and calculating. If she killed him she would be the same as he was. Could she live with herself afterwards? Knowing that she had taken a life? Or would she always see her dreams the light leaving his eyes, haunting her for the rest of her life?   
“Promise us.”  
Violet forced herself to raise the knife a little higher, forcing herself to think on how much she hated the man. Her tormentor. Her abuser. Her rapist. The man who had made her life a living hell. How satisfied she’d feel to see him suffer for a change. Her resolve wobbled but she narrowed her eyes. This was it.   
Olaf’s eye opened. 

Fin.


End file.
